


Can You Feel My Heart

by edema_ruh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Tony Stark, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Issues, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Fever, Fights, Gen, Guilty Steve Rogers, Heart Attacks, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Afghanistan, Mind Control, Mind-Controlled Steve Rogers, Overworking, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Science Bros, Self-Sacrificing Tony Stark, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve hurts Tony, Telepathy, Tony Angst, Tony Being Tony, Tony Feels, Tony Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Tony cares, Tony cares about Peter so much, Tony would die for Peter honestly, Trust Issues, alternative universe, cardiac arrest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: Tony hadn't expected to find Peter there, putting himself in danger in the middle of a fight between the Avengers and an inhuman telepath who decided to wreak havoc in midtown Manhattan just because he was bored.He also hadn't expected that keeping Peter from harm would result on a mind-controlled Steve Rogers tearing the arc reactor out of his chest and leaving him to die in front of the kid Tony was supposed to protect, but hey, he should have probably seen that was bound to happen.





	1. Chapter 1

                The last thing Tony Stark was expecting to happen to him on a perfectly pleasing Sunday morning was to be called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to assemble with the Avengers.

He had been at his workshop for 56 hours, 37 minutes and 10 seconds, working non-stop on several new projects that he had started all at once and never got to finish. His current focus was on a new Iron Man suit, Mark… something. He couldn’t remember which Mark number he had reached anymore. He thought about asking Jarvis what Mark this one was, but the A.I. would probably worry about further about his state of mind if he did so. And, in fact, this wasn’t Jarvis anymore, but Friday, and Friday didn’t worry about him, she just contacted Pepper whenever she realized Tony was on the verge of stubbornly working himself to death.

The only thing worse than having Jarvis scolding him for being a reckless, self-sacrificing prick was having _Pepper_ scolding him for the same reason. At least Jarvis always tried to talk him out of his stubbornness _before_ contacting Pepper, but Friday didn’t have the same panache as his former A.I.

Nah, he was fine. It didn’t matter which Mark number this was, anyways; he wasn’t about to finish it anytime soon. He had to go to the damn assembly, or else that would make the third time in a row he skipped. And it wasn’t like he gave a damn about Fury’s whining on responsibility and being on time, no – it was Cap’s scolding he wasn’t on the mood to receive.

Tony was exhausted. He was bone-deep tired, being awake for 56 hours straight. His life blood was probably more coffee than actual blood on that moment, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused from sheer fatigue. If he had been anyone else, he would have already given up on his accumulated projects and gone to sleep hours ago, but the prospect of making up some sort of excuse in order not to go sounded as exhausting as actually going. Ignoring Friday’s subtle advice that it was better for him to stay at the tower, Tony put down his tools and promptly stepped into his Iron Man suit. He could already feel the beginning of a migraine manifest itself at the deepest part of his head, but he ignored it in favor of analyzing the data that Fury had already sent him and that was flashing on his mask’s visor. Tony’s fuzzy brain couldn’t really make out most of the information, only that this whole assembly was because of a teenager with inhuman powers that was wreaking havoc on midtown Manhattan. Tony rolled his eyes, already regretting having immediately answered the call for an assemble. Were the Avengers really necessary on this mission? Couldn’t they just send some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents down, take this kid in and give them a scolding?

“He’s a telepath”, was one of the first things Fury said after Tony arrived at the meeting, right after “You’re late”, “You look hungover off your ass” and “I hope to god you’re not intoxicated, Stark”. Tony couldn’t really blame him for thinking that – he knew he had a history and Fury was one of the only people aware of that –, but it still stung a bit to know that the man would immediately assume that he was drunk. As much hostility as they liked to play around each other, Tony knew that Fury knew him better than to be a man who succumbed to old vices. Working himself to death? Sure. But falling back into alcohol’s grasp? That was low, even for Fury to say.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has already sent several agents to attempt an arrest”, Natasha explained, arms crossed above her chest as she stood behind Fury’s desk. She was unreadable to Tony most of the time, but if he hadn’t known her better, he would have described her as having a protective manner on that moment. “It didn’t turn out well. From what we know, the telepath can only control one person at the time, but it’s still enough to do a lot of damage. We don’t have any casualties yet, but it’s only a matter of time”.

“Still, there are at least eleven injured, five of those being civilians”, Fury complemented, still sat by the desk. To his right were Steve, Wanda and Vision, whereas to his left were only Tony and Bruce, the Iron Man suit standing on sentinel-mode at the entrance of the conference room. Tony noticed that Barton was absent, but he didn’t really need to ask why. Mind control and Clint didn’t get along very well ever since that Loki stunt back in 2012, and they had enough Avengers to do the job without needing the archer’s help. They all had their demons, that was for sure, and it would be unfair to demand that Barton faced his because of a mission that Tony himself could probably handle.

Tony had his own demons too, but the team didn’t exactly need to know that.

“What is the course of action?”, Steve promptly asked, and Tony tried very hard not to roll his eyes, but couldn’t help himself. Leave it to Captain America to sound so formal and righteous all the time.

“Since this kid can only control one person at the time, it shouldn’t be too hard to overcome him”, Fury explained, standing up from his chair. Tony absentmindedly fished his phone out of his pocket and started to research anything he could find on this kid while the man spoke. “Wanda will go with you to protect you from his mind control. The rest of you will take the kid down and bring him in”.

“Is the Hulk really necessary for this one?”, Bruce asked in a hesitant tone.

“No, which is why you’ll be sitting this one off”, Natasha promptly replied, nodding at Bruce. The scientist looked relieved to hear that he wouldn’t be required to the mission, even if he tried to hide it. “Go back to the tower. Do some yoga”, she teased.

“I didn’t know my tower had become a hostel in which anyone can barge in whenever they like”, Tony commented, never taking his eyes off the screen of his phone. The kid with telepathy was a Henry Davies, 17, who went to Midtown School of Science and Technology and had been exposed to terrigen three days ago when he was coming back from a party. Didn’t look like a troublesome kid, but had a history of bullying fellow students. He was probably some stuck up kid who got too powerful and decided to have some fun without facing consequences. Nothing that they hadn’t faced before. Should be easy to take down. A scolding would probably do him some good.

“Are you saying I’m ‘anyone’?”, Bruce asked, fake-hurt. Tony smirked, even though he rolled his eyes.

“Nah, you’re ok, Brucey-bear”, he replied, giving Bruce a friendly tap on the shoulder, though his eyes remained glued to the phone. “But do us all a favor and order some pizzas for when we get back. God knows how arguing with obnoxious teens makes me tired _and_ hungry”.

“This is hardly an argument, Tony”, Steve said seriously, clearly missing the lighthearted tone in Tony’s voice. “This kid has injured civilians and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents alike. He is dangerous and could end up getting someone killed”.

“Well, as long as that someone isn’t me, I will still want pizza later”, Tony shrugged, feigning disinterest. That was how he always played, how he always worked – acting distant and selfish was the best way to prevent himself from being hurt.

 _Stark men are made of iron_ , his father used to say to him. He surely was made of iron now, but before being tortured and kept on a cage for three months, he was only flesh and bone. Sometimes, he forgot that. Sometimes he forgot that he hadn’t always been Iron Man, that he hadn’t always had a cocoon of steel to protect him from the outside world. Sometimes, he forgot that he hadn’t always had a tiny bomb inside his chest, ready to blow off any second as much as it was ready to keep the shrapnel from tearing his heart to pieces.

Karma had found other creative ways to tear his heart to pieces instead, but that was a story for another time.

But Steve didn’t seem to _get it_ , and honestly, how could Tony blame him for that? _He_ was the one who was always saying selfish things and acting self-absorbed all the time. And maybe he _was_ selfish and self-absorbed to a level, but he was also pretty damn aware of the reason why he hadn’t died alone and forgotten on that godforsaken cave back in Afghanistan. He hadn’t died because he had a bigger purpose to accomplish. And this purpose was to save people who couldn’t save themselves, just as he was once unable to save himself. His purpose was to make up for all the lives his industry took, and to make up for the well-earned title of “merchant of death”. His purpose was to do something _good_ , for once.

But Steve didn’t really get it. It wasn’t really his fault, either.

“Howard didn’t deserve the son he had”, Steve ended up saying in disapproval, and honestly? Tony never saw that coming. He hadn’t expected to get to the Captain’s nerves so _easily_ ; this was just a lighthearted banter for god’s sake. Tony immediately suppressed the surprise and the hurt that had probably shown on his face upon hearing Steve’s words, because the only thing worse than _hearing_ them was giving Steve the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to Tony.

“Rogers”, Fury reprimanded immediately, because if anyone in that room knew the damage Howard Stark had left in Tony’s life, that person was Nick Fury. They may not be close, but before Tony had the chance to hack S.H.I.E.L.D. and delete every information he deemed “too personal for comfort”, Fury had read his files. And even if he though Tony was an asshole, he knew that was mostly just a façade. But Steve didn’t. And the last thing Fury needed right now was for Tony to get all broken-hearted and Steve get all riled up when they had a bloody inhuman mind-controlling people in midtown Manhattan.

“Leave the heart-to-heart for later”, Natasha said simply, already marching her way out of the room. “We have a teen to arrest”.

Wanda immediately got to her feet, awkwardly waiting to see whether Vision would catch up with her or follow her out of the room, while Tony stepped back into his suit. He pushed Steve’s comment to the back of his mind – worrying about something stupid like that was definitely not on the top of his priority list. He had _things_ to do. Suppressing his emotions in favor of looking unaffected was his specialty, anyway.

“You know how I like it, Purple Lettuce”, Tony told Bruce as they left the room, voice muffled by the Iron Man mask. “Lots of cheese, lots of bacon and absolutely no fruits at all”.

“You don’t know what you’re missing”, Bruce said calmly, apologetically. Almost pitifully, but Tony payed no mind to that.

“And I’d rather die before I get to know”, he replied, stepping into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s helicarrier roof. “Keep your pineapples away from my pizza”.

“No promises”, Bruce shrugged right before Tony took off.

 

 

                The one thing Tony Stark wasn’t expecting to happen to him on a perfectly pleasing Sunday morning was to be called in by Nick Fury to assemble with the Avengers, but _the absolute last thing_ he had been expecting was to find Peter Parker in midtown Manhattan, fighting the inhuman kid who had _injured eleven people_.

Tony’s first instinct was to scold Friday for not updating him on Peter’s whereabouts and telling about the kid’s reckless decision of coming to Manhattan fight this inhuman, but rationally, he knew that if the A.I. was to warn him every time Peter did something stupid, Tony would never be able to concentrate on his work again. Still, finding the kid fighting a dangerous and potentially deadly inhuman in a neighborhood that he wasn’t familiar with was unnerving, and Tony had to take several deep breaths in order not to lose it in front of his teammates.

“Hey, Spider-Kid!”, Tony yelled, hovering in the air beside the building from which Peter was dangling off a web. It looked like his hand was stuck in one of them, and Tony vaguely wondered how that had happened. “I thought you were supposed to keep your web-head in Queens!”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark!”, Peter yelled from where he was still dangling off, struggling to free himself. “But I know this guy, he’s from my school, I couldn’t just let him go around hurting people!”

And then it finally downed on Tony, a little too late, because he knew, he knew he had recognized Henry Davies’ school name from somewhere. It was the damn school _Peter_ went to. Which explained why the kid had bothered to go all the way to Manhattan to fight crime, instead of staying safely at his usual neighborhood arresting common robbers.

“Alright, kid”, Tony instructed, focusing entirely on Peter while the other Avengers tried to take the telepath down. Since Wanda was shielding them from any potential mind control with her powers, Tony didn’t really worry about the telepath getting into his head any time soon. “You did good so far. Go to the bench, the grown-ups will take it from here”.

“Mr. Stark, wait –“, Peter called as Tony was about to take off.

“What, you need help to get off your web?”, Tony asked sarcastically. Before Peter could reply, the sound of a gunshot echoed across the street and Tony immediately snapped his head to see what was going on.

“It seems a security guard has shot Ms. Maximoff”, Friday informed him before he could even ask, just as Vision crouched down and grabbed a limp Wanda into his arms, flying away from the scene. Tony could feel the warm, secure feeling of Wanda’s protection around his mind dissipate, and all of a sudden he felt very vulnerable, even inside the suit. On the floor, the security guard who had taken the shot was looking around in confusion, having dropped his gun to the floor as if only then realizing what he had done. His eyes had been completely white for a second, before returning to their natural color.

“Mr. Stark, watch out!”, Peter shouted in warning, but before Tony could turn around and see what it was the boy was staring at with such wide eyes, something hit him hard on the back of his head and he tumbled forwards, falling from his hovering position beside Peter for few seconds before he regained his balance. He only had time to see Cap’s shield bouncing back to Steve’s hands before the man threw it at Tony again, in a not-very-friendly manner.

“Rogers, what the hell?”, Tony exclaimed, turning around in order to face Steve. The Captain’s eyes were completely white and vacant, and dreadful realization downed upon Tony. Without Wanda’s mind-protection, the entire team had become vulnerable to the telepath’s mind-control. It probably hadn’t taken this telepath kid too long to realize that, and to also realize that Steve was possibly the strongest of them.

Something inside Tony’s chest tightened, and he recognized the sensation as fear. One of his teammates was turning against him. Someone he _trusted_ was trying to kill him. This was 2008 all over again. Except Tony knew that Steve had no control over his actions, he was being _mind-controlled_ , and that as much as he clearly hated Tony, he would never deliberately attack him on purpose. This was just Tony’s traumatized brain being stupid over something simple – something that seemed to be happening more and more often overtime – but Tony couldn’t exactly help himself. The tightening in his chest became a full-on constriction and breathing became too hard to him. He was on the verge of panicking, thoughts of Steve or Natasha or even Peter turning against him when he was finally bringing himself to trust them.

Shit. _Peter_. Peter was here, right beside him, on the telepath’s mind-control range. And the one thing that scared Tony more than Peter turning against him, was _him_ turning against Peter. He would never forgive himself if he hurt the kid, mind-controlled or not.

“Get out of here, kid”, Tony turned towards Peter and said, more serious than he had ever sounded before. “I mean it”.

He would have stayed back to make sure that Peter was away from there and in safety, but right on that moment Natasha decided to make a jump at Steve, finally realizing that he was being controlled by the telepath. Even though the Widow was strong – and possibly one of the deadliest people Tony had ever met –, she was no match to a completely-out-of-it Steve Rogers. The Captain’s eyes were vacant of any emotion, and his face was slack, almost as if he was sleeping with his eyes open. He was clearly not in control of his actions, which meant he was aiming to kill, and not to hurt. His closed fist smashed the concrete floor where Natasha’s head had been a mere second before, and Tony couldn’t stay out of the action any longer. As he propelled himself forwards towards them, Steve seemed to remember he was still there and stopped his vicious attacks against Natasha in order to throw his shield at Tony again. Tony successfully dodged it, and the shield hit the building directly behind him, smashing some windows and making broken glass rain all over the sidewalk beneath it. The shield was lost inside the building.

“Friday, any civilians still around?”, Tony asked, worried about the amount of glass falling from the broken windows. He approached Steve in offensive mode, aiming his hand repulsors at him and hovering above the floor.

“No, sir”, Friday promptly responded. “All civilians have been cleared out of this street. The local police has been called in and are on their way”.

“See that they don’t get too close”, Tony instructed. “The last thing we need is for the news tomorrow have a picture of Capsicle attacking his own teammates, or mind-controlled police officers shooting at civilians”.

“Right away, sir”, Friday responded.

“Alright, Rogers”, Tony said, still aiming his repulsors at Steve. “Gonna need you to snap out of it, buddy. I still want to get that pizza later, and I’d rather do it without any bruises”.

Steve groaned in an almost animalistic manner, and since his shield was no longer around, he picked up the closest thing to him, which happened to be an abandoned car in the middle of the street. Tony knew that, if he dodged it, the car would probably do damage to the building behind him, so he opted for stopping it midair instead. He barely managed grabbing it without completely losing his balance and falling, but the distraction was enough for Steve to go back to attacking Natasha, who had repeatedly attempted to electrocute him with her Widow Bite to no avail. She scissored her legs around Steve’s neck and managed to knock him down, but he was stronger than her and simply stood up, super-soldier serum to be thanked for that. She managed to kick him in the mouth before he grabbed her foot and threw her several feet away as if she weighted nothing, and the display was honestly disturbing to Tony. This man was clearly stronger than he let on, if he could just survive Natasha like that. There was probably nothing stopping him from killing every single Avenger in their sleep, except for the goodness of his heart.

“Hey, Capsicle!”, Tony shouted when Steve began to march his way over to where Natasha had fallen, limp on the ground, ready to probably murder her. He was about to ask Friday for the woman’s vitals when Natasha began to stir, groaning much to Tony’s relief. He needed to distract Steve to give her some time to get back on her feet. “We get it, you won the who-is-the-strongest-superhero contest. No need to be such a showoff”, he teased, actually managing to strike Steve’s shoulder with a repulsor blast. He had lowered the power so that it would only hurt Steve, rather than killing him, but it still didn’t seem to be enough, because the Captain stood up as easily as he had fallen, turning all his attention to Tony. “Shit. Jarvis, increase power in 20%”, he instructed as Steve began to march over towards him.

“It’s Friday, sir”, the A.I. reminded him politely, doing as she had been instructed. Tony mentally cursed himself for making that mistake once again. He had done well at coping with the loss of his former A.I., but sometimes, and especially on moments of stress, he couldn’t help but to instinctively call for Jarvis. Jarvis had been there with him ever since his college time, always ready to support him with no matter what. His loss was still too recent for Tony, and he hadn’t really put much thought on how the former A.I.’s absence had affected him. He had just suppressed it in order to attend to more urgent businesses.

He hit Steve with the repulsors again as soon as they recharged, the blast stronger this time, but it was still useless. Steve tumbled to the side from the impact but immediately got back to his feet, running towards Tony, who wasn’t exactly hovering too high from ground level. Steve managed to grab one of Tony’s feet and yanked him down towards the floor, making Tony’s head collide harshly with the pavement. Even though his skull was protected with a helmet, the impact didn’t help his migraine.

“Snap out of it, Steve!”, Natasha yelled behind the super-soldier, having gotten back on her feet. Her lower lip was bleeding and there was an ugly bruise on the side of her forehead, but she seemed ready to fight. Steve merely stood there, face empty of any emotion, which only made the fight against him more uncanny than anything else. If he had looked angry, it would have been easier for Tony to simply retaliate his attacks and bring him down. But his vacant, emotionless face only served to remind him that this _wasn’t_ Steve, that he had no control of his actions and that he would probably feel very, very guilty for what he was doing on that moment. Steve would probably blame himself for something that he had no control over, and this was probably the single only similarity that he and Tony shared.

“Natasha, find the kid and take him down! I’ve got this”, Tony instructed her over the coms, because even though Natasha was deadly, Steve was too strong and their intention wasn’t to actually kill him. The only way they would actually be able to stop Steve without killing him was capturing the telepath and putting him out, thus ceasing the mind-control. The Widow seemed to understand that too, because she dodged yet another punch from Steve and managed to kick him on the ribs with both feet, hand leaning on the floor for support. The kick didn’t do much harm, but it made Steve lose balance enough for her to dart away from the scene and disappear on a corner before he could grab a hold of her. Steve immediately made to follow her, completely ignoring Tony shooting at his back. If the telepath was clever – which he probably was, since he had known exactly which Avenger to strike down first in order to leave them all vulnerable –, then he knew that the Widow was coming for him. His only shot was to have Steve stop her before she could reach him.

“Rogers, why’d you have to be such a sore loser?”, Tony shouted, but Steve didn’t even turn to look at him, focused completely on Natasha. Tony picked up the car that Steve had thrown at him and launched it at the man, knowing that it would probably hurt like hell. The vehicle collided with Steve and knocked him down, making him roll over several times and fall on his belly. However, before Tony could celebrate, Steve simply stood up and continued to run after Natasha, limping a couple of times before he regained his footing as if he hadn’t just been struck by a literal car. “Nat, he’s coming for you”, Tony warned as he flew after Steve, continuously shooting at him with his repulsors. The most Tony managed with that was unbalancing Steve enough for him to fall, but he got back to his feet as quickly as Tony recharged his repulsors.

“Then cover me”, Natasha panted sharply in her coms, running as fast as she could. “I could really use your help with a location”, she added, and Friday didn’t even bother to wait for Tony’s instruction before a tiny light appeared blinking on the map at the corner of his mask’s screen.

“He’s a block away from you, in the big grey building on the left”, Tony provided, still shooting at Steve. “Shit, I can’t stop him. Friday, put Vision on coms”, he instructed. Immediately, there was a click on his ears and he could hear Bruce’s voice faintly shouting orders in the background. “Vision, we need you back here”, Tony shouted, finally catching up with Steve as he ran and throwing himself against the man, the both of them rolling on the concrete floor.

“I am afraid Doctor Banner is still in need of my assistance”, Vision replied as calmly as ever, as if his girlfriend hadn’t just been shot by a security guard and as if Captain America wasn’t completely out of his mind and attacking his teammates in the middle of Manhattan.

“Just call S.H.I.E.L.D.’s damn med-team there and get your ass over here to help!”, Tony shouted, barely managing to dodge one of Steve’s wreaking punches that landed on the asphalt beside his head instead. Tony got on top of him, hoping that the suit’s weight would at least be enough to pin the super-soldier to the asphalt for long enough for Tony to immobilize him, but Steve got rid of him as easily as he had with Natasha, swatting him away as if he was a bug. Before he could go back to running again, however, Tony managed to grab hold of his ankle, yanking his leg back and throwing Steve against a building. Steve landed heavily, actually leaving cracks on the brick wall behind him. Tony could see bruises and blotches of blood all over Steve’s arms, face, and neck, and yet he kept going as if nothing was wrong with him. Tony vaguely wondered if Steve was feeling all the pain that was being inflicted on him by their attempts to stop him, or if he would only feel it later, when he regained his own consciousness. Was Steve actually conscious through all that? Could he see and hear what he was doing without being able to do anything to stop himself? Could he hear Tony speaking to him, or was he completely unaware, his mind having been taken over by a psychotic teenager?

Steve got to his feet, face still blank and stupidly slack like a puppet’s, and then he ran past Tony, immediately going back to his mission of stopping Natasha from finding the telepath. The fact that Steve was still under his mind-control was indicator enough that Natasha hadn’t found Henry yet, because she had told them that this kid could only mind-control one person at the time, and he hadn’t given Steve up. Tony once again flew after Steve, managing to catch him much easier this time.

“Let’s go for a ride”, Tony said, grabbing one of Steve’s arms and yanking him from the floor. This was just a random idea he had, but maybe if he could take Steve far enough from the telepath’s control range, he would return to his senses. Steve struggled and kicked the air as Tony dragged him, trying to free himself. Tony only managed to drag Steve for about fifty meters before the super-soldier closed one of his hands around Iron Man’s ankle, squeezing the metal piece as if his life depended on it until sparkles exploded around his hand and the foot’s repulsor failed. Tony lost balance, being propelled in the air by only one repulsor, and found himself falling onto the concrete floor, him and Steve rolling onto opposite directions.

He couldn’t tell if his actual ankle had been injured, but the blaring sound on his ears and the flashing red light on his screen told him that his leg repulsor was down for good. Looking around, he saw Steve struggling to get up a few feet away from him, lying on the top of a wrecked car. The fact that he was now struggling to get back into action, rather than simply jumping to his feet like he had been doing before, was enough indicator that his body was probably catching up with the abuse it had been put through so far, super-soldier serum or not. Still, before Tony could get back to him, Steve managed to hop off the roof of the ruined car, stumbling for a few moments before managing to stand upright. There was a new cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely, and his eyes, still completely white, seemed more vacant than before. Steve made to run again, never ceasing his quest to find Natasha before she found the telepath. Before he could gather himself enough to run, or before Tony could get back to his feet and try to stop him, something white and large, like a net, hit Steve on the back and made him lose balance, pinning him down to the floor.

It took Tony longer than it should have to figure out that what was pinning Steve down was a _web_.

“Kid, I told you to get out of here!”, Tony shouted as Spider-Man dangled off from a web and landed beside him. He looked tired, and Tony vaguely wondered if he had been trying to free himself from his own web all this time.

“You looked like you could use some help, Mr. Stark”, Peter told him with that jovial lightheartedness that made Tony sick to the stomach and fond of the kid at the same time. He crouched down beside where Tony was still lying on the floor, taking his mask off so that he could take a better look at his scrunched suit leg. He made a hissing, sympathetic sound upon inspecting that the repulsor on the leg was ruined beyond use. “Whoa. This looks bad”.

“Nothing I can’t fix”, Tony said, sitting up and opening his faceplate. “You can go now. Tell May I sent her a kiss”, he added dismissively. The last thing he needed was for this kid to be in yet another fight against Captain America. Once was enough.

“I can help”, Peter said, actually following Tony as the billionaire limped over to where Steve was still pinned to the floor, struggling madly against the web Peter had hit him with. Tony made a mental note to actually give this kid a big, expensive Christmas present for coming up with the formula for that web fluid all by himself. That thing was _strong_ , and on a genius-level. Peter had too much potential to waste it on getting himself killed.

“You’ve already helped”, Tony said, approaching Steve more slowly than he would have liked. His completely ruined leg wasn’t exactly helping on mobility. He would have to switch the propelling repulsors to his hands if he wanted to fly out of there, which meant he wouldn’t be able to carry Steve back to the Tower himself. Tony needed to get Vision back there as soon as possible, because it was very unlikely that Natasha would be able to carry Steve by herself as well, and asking _Peter_ to do so was completely out of question.

But then something caught Tony’s attention, something that hadn’t been there before and that made a chill full of dread run down his spine. Because there, struggling on the floor and pinned by a web, was Steve, uselessly wiggling, but there was something wrong about it.

“Tony. Tony, what’s happening? Why am I stuck? Iron Man, report. Black Widow, report. What’s going on?”, Steve was mumbling, weakly attempting to free himself and looking around with wide, fearsome, confused, but most of all _, blue eyes_.

He was no longer under the telepath’s control.

Which could only mean that…

“Mr. Stark!”, Peter yelled behind him, and before he could react, Peter pushed him out of the way from what Tony recognized as his improved Widow’s Bite. While Natasha’s previous Bite could cause an electric discharge strong enough to damage a healthy person’s heart for the rest of their lives, Tony’s improvement had turned it into something able to kill a person three times over. He was probably safe as long as he stayed inside the suit, but Peter’s suit didn’t have the structure to protect him from such an attack. He probably wouldn’t die if he got hit, but still, the mere possibility of having the kid develop _heart problems_ just like Tony made a knot appear in his throat. The last thing he possibly wanted was for Peter to become just like him. Tony wanted him to be _better_.

“Peter, get out of here, _now_ ”, Tony ordered, and the mere fact that he had used Peter’s first name was indicator enough of how serious he was being. Natasha shot yet another Bite at them, which would have hit Peter straight in the chest, had Tony not placed his own hand in front of the kid protectively. His suit emitted a hundred sparkles from the electric discharge of the bite. Peter hesitated, but didn’t have enough time to protest before Natasha was onto them, kicking Peter on the jaw before he could dodge and knocking the boy down. Tony tried to grab a hold of her, but she was faster than his suited arms could catch her.

“Stark, what’s going on?!”, Steve shouted miserably from where he was still stuck, having no memory of what had happened while he was mind controlled. Tony thought about shooting a blast to help him out of the webs, but then saw Peter making his way to aid Captain America. He focused his attention on Natasha, who was standing directly in front of him and pointing her bracelet at Tony. Her eyes were white and vacant just as Steve’s had been a moment before.

“Natasha, just listen”, Tony raised a calming hand, that could either be interpreted as an attempt to calm the Widow or as an offensive gesture, since his repulsor was pointed straight at her.

“You will let me get away if you don’t want your precious Peter to kick the bucket”, Natasha said, voice alien to Tony’s ears. This wasn’t her speaking, but the telepath using her voice to communicate. The fact that he knew not only who Peter was, but how much he meant to Tony, was enough to make his heart rate spike up in a pace that couldn’t be healthy for him. “You think I don’t know who he is? Or what he means to you? I may only be able to control one of you at the time, but I can see inside your heads”, he continued. It was Natasha’s voice Tony heard, but Henry Davies’ words he listened.

A few feet to Tony’s side, Peter was still aiding Steve out of the webs, which only then Tony recognized as a bad idea. There was nothing stopping the telepath from shifting his control from Natasha back to Steve again, and Peter was still too close to either of them for comfort. The kid should have goddamn listened to him when Tony told him to _leave_.

“That’s right”, Natasha said, voice monotone and vacant of emotion, as if she was just reading the words on a teleprompter. “But Pete has always been stubborn, hasn’t he? Just like you. If you hadn’t given him the suit, he wouldn’t be here right now, in danger. He would still be back at Queens, beating biker robbers and small thieves. You dragged him into this”.

“Alright kid, that’s enough”, Tony cut in, because honestly, he was not about to have a therapy session with a 17-year-old criminal. He knew what this guy was doing. He was trying to use Tony’s never ending guilt against him, he was trying to manipulate him and make him weak. He couldn’t allow that.

“I’m not trying to make you weak”, Natasha said vacantly, white eyes staring at nothing. “You already _are_ ”. And then she shot another Widow’s Bite at him, to no avail. Noticing that this tactic was useless, Natasha grabbed both her guns and started to shoot at Tony.

“Turn yourself in now and I’ll see that S.H.I.E.L.D. gives you a pretty, tidy room until you decide to remove the stick from up your ass”, Tony said sarcastically, wincing as the bullets hit his suit, because this was his only defense mechanism. He was on the verge of freaking out now, and he could see Peter helping to drag Steve away from the scene, they were almost turning the corner now. If Tony could distract this guy enough for them to get away…

“I don’t even need to use telepathy to get inside your head”, the telepath used Natasha’s voice to speak. “All I have to do is say a list of names. Ho Yinsen”, she took a shot. “Happy Hogan”, another shot. “James Rhodes”, a shot. “Harley Keener”, a shot. “Pepper Potts”, a shot. “Obadiah Stane”, a shot. “ _Howard Stark”_ , another shot. “All the people who got hurt because of you”.

Tony blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to keep his cool. He couldn’t afford having an attack now. He had to be strong. He had to get out of there. He had to get _Peter_ out of there and make sure this stupid telepath never saw the light of day again. He couldn’t freaking _lose it_.

“ _Jericho_ ”, he heard Natasha say, and that was the last straw. Before he knew better, his instincts flew in and he shot a blast against her, hitting her right on the stomach. She was thrown back by the impact, flying for a few meters before falling hard on her back. Tony was on the verge of hyperventilating, but took a series of short breaths in order to calm himself before he spoke:

“Jarvis, Vision on the coms”. The A.I. didn’t even bother to correct him this time, and in two seconds there was a click on his ear. “I need you to find the telepath and take him down. I’m sending you his location”.

“Stark…”, Vision tried to object, but Tony was more afraid than he had ever felt and he felt like he was on the verge of having a breakdown.

“None of us can do it”, Tony snapped, walking over to the Widow, who was struggling to get on her feet. “It has to be you”.

There was a moment of silent ponderation.

“I thought you were created to protect people”, Tony added bitterly, because honestly, this day was sucking more than he thought it would when he woke up in the morning. The word “Jericho” was still echoing on the back of his mind and he was absolutely sure that the first thing he would do as soon as he got back to the Tower was throw the hell up. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that his lack of air was due to water filling his faceplate, just like they had drowned him over and over and over again back in Afghanistan –

“I am on my way”, Vision desisted, and the com went dead. The apparently calm voice was enough to break him out of his stupor.

“There’s nowhere to hide, now”, Tony told the white-eyed Natasha, because he was sure that the telepath would know he had called Vision in even if Tony didn’t tell him. He tried his best to hide the shakiness in his voice, but he knew that he probably still sounded pathetic. “Give yourself in peacefully and I will personally make sure you get a fair trial”.

“You’re a stupid fuck”, the telepath said with Natasha’s voice, and Tony would have laughed had they been in any other situation, because the phrase was so unlike Natasha it was humorous. “You just got yourself killed”.

“What is it about teenagers and obeying orders?”, Tony huffed out in exasperation, already overwhelmed by the situation unfolding around him. “It’s over, kid! There’s no way you can win. Party’s over. Just let go of Natasha and turn yourself in. No one will hurt you”.

“Fine”, Natasha said in a monotone, but Tony had the feeling that it was meant to be a snarl. “I’ll let go of _Natasha_ ”.

The Widow’s eyes immediately fluttered shut and her whole body went limp as she fell forwards, the only thing keeping her from slamming her face on the concrete being Tony’s armored hand holding her back. She sighed, almost in relief, and blinked her eyes open at Tony, green irises darting around full of confusion. She frowned.

“He got to me”, she stated simply, as if that was the most baffling thing that could have possibly happened.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt anyone”, Tony said, opening his faceplate and staring down at her with sympathy. It was still unnerving to look at the face that had listed all of Tony’s worst regrets barely two minutes ago, but he knew better than to blame Natasha. Just as Steve, she had been in no control of her actions. However, Tony’s statement made her raise a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“That doesn’t sound right”, she asked.

“Well, fine”, Tony rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath. “You tried to. You might have hurt the kid”, he added, remembering how hard Natasha had kicked Peter, but then this train of thought reminded him that Peter was still around here somewhere and, for better or for worse, the telepath hadn’t been caught yet. His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Henry?”, Natasha asked, confused.

“Spider-Man”, Tony responded seriously, getting to his feet and using his hand repulsors in order to fly over to where he had last seen Peter and Steve turning on the corner. He knew that Natasha would be fine, and might even catch up with them.

As he turned the corner and entered the street, he spotted a nightmarish vision of Steve, eyes back to full-white, holding Peter up by his neck. His legs were kicking madly, uselessly attempting to free himself from Steve’s grasp, and his hands were closed around Steve’s much bigger ones, trying to release the tightness around his neck. He actually managed to loosen Steve’s grip enough in order to kick him on the chest and fall on his back, away from the super-soldier, panting heavily and meekly dragging himself away from Steve across the floor. Tony immediately propelled himself forwards and landed directly between the once again mind-controlled Steve and the injured Peter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark”, Peter croaked, voice hoarse and barely audible. Tony could already imagine Steve’s print-shaped bruises around the kid’s neck. “I t-tried to stop him, b-but-“

“You should have gone home, kid”, Tony sighed, both hands pointed defensively at Steve.

“I t-told you I could h-help”, Peter croaked, trying – and failing – to get on his feet. He fell on one knee, breaking into a nasty coughing feet behind Tony.

“Take deep breaths”, Tony instructed, trying to sound neutral and never taking his eyes off Steve, who was standing in front of Tony, too still for his liking. It almost felt like the telepath was taking his time to wonder what his next move would be.

“I know w-what he wants”, Peter coughed out, looking up at Tony pitifully. Tony spared Peter a quick worried glance, not wanting to tear his eyes away from Steve for too long.

“Yeah, he’s a spoiled teen who just got superpowers and thinks he can do whatever he wants”, Tony said, paying close attention to every single breath Steve took. “Now get out of here, kid, or I swear to god I’ll call May and tell her everything there is to know about her friendly neighborhood Spider-Boy”.

Peter seemed to freeze at that, the eyes in his mask widening slightly. But he finally managed to stand up obstinately, leaning both hands on his knees like an old man.

“I can help”, he said, and Tony was on the verge of grabbing the kid by the collar and dragging him all the way back to Queens himself.

And then Steve finally moved after what seemed an eternity of silent ponderation. And he jumped straight at Peter like a predator.

Tony immediately threw himself in front of the kid, because honestly, Peter could be strong and heal fast, but if _Natasha_ had barely survived Cap, then Peter didn’t stand a chance. He had little experience in battle, he was smaller and weaker than Steve and Tony just couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him hurt. Maybe he _could_ take Captain America out, in a day in which Steve was in complete control of his own mind, but fighting against this mind-controlled super-soldier was equivalent to suicide. Peter fell to the side as Tony surged into the place where he’d been previously standing, surprised. Steve immediately threw himself onto Tony, who fell hard on his back, Steve on the top of him and wasting no time into throwing punches at his armor. Steve was strong, stronger than Tony could ever dream of being, and each of his punches was equivalent to his suit being repeatedly hit by a car. Tony was smart, but not even his suit could withstand a super-soldier constantly aggressing him like that. An alarm began to blare at Tony’s ears, warning him of the damage his suit was taking, and Tony didn’t even feel his migraine anymore, thanks to the adrenaline in his blood.

“Rogers, wake up!”, Tony yelled desperately at the Captain’s blank face, trying to ignore all the warnings and flashing lights that were screaming at him on his mask’s screen. Steve was doing some actual damage to the Iron Man suit, and if he kept going on that pace, Tony would end up having to eject himself before he ended up crushed beneath the metal like a sardine.

Peter shot two webs at Steve, yanking at them hard and actually managing to drag Steve from the top of Tony. Just as Tony had taught him, Peter went for Steve’s legs, knocking him down on the floor and pulling him away from the damaged suit.

“Cri-cal dam-ge to t- suit’s sta-lity”, Friday told him, voice creaking and failing with an obnoxious electrical buzz. “It w-ld be ad-sable to ej-ct”.

“Not yet”, Tony replied, struggling to get to his feet. Steve had managed to regain his balance, even with the web tangled around one his legs, and had managed to punch Peter in the face twice in a row. The kid stumbled on his feet, and if he hadn’t been genetically altered to have super strength, Steve’s blows would have probably ripped his skull right out of his body. Tony held Steve’s hand back before he could punch Peter in the face a third time, and the kid stumbled back, clearly disoriented. Tony dodged Steve’s punch aimed at him and head-butted him, thankful that the suit’s helmet was still stable enough for him to accomplish that without giving himself a concussion.

Steve seemed unbalanced by Tony’s offensive but quickly recovered and head-butted Tony in return, making a crack appear in one of Iron Man’s eyes. Tony tried to hit him with a blast from his repulsors, but it didn’t even seem to scratch the man. Instead, Steve grabbed hold of both Tony’s hands and squeezed, the metal immediately scrunching into a mess of wires and sparks. The repulsors broke with an electrical sound, and Tony could feel the pressure of Steve’s hands crunching his own, actual hands inside the armor.

Tony freaked out. He couldn’t work without his hands. He needed his hands to build things, to hold tools, to create suits, to type and draw prototypes and use his hologram table. He was nothing without his hands. It had been his hands that saved his sorry ass back in Afghanistan, when he was helpless and hopeless and built Mark 1, and it had been his hands who gave Iron Man to the world. His hands had been covered in blood ever since he took over his father’s company, that was for sure, but he had been working to wash that blood away by actually doing something good for once. And he couldn’t save the world without Iron Man. And he couldn’t be Iron Man without _his hands_.

He vaguely recalled Natasha saying that the Avengers needed Iron Man, not Tony Stark.

He didn’t want to be replaced.

Steve was about to turn Tony’s hands into scrap.

“Eject”, Tony shouted desperately at Friday, breath actually hitching in his throat. The suit’s back immediately opened and threw Tony out with such force that he fell on his back against the glass-covered asphalt and slid a few feet across it, immediately getting to his feet just as Natasha doubled the corner and entered his field of vision. As soon as she saw that Tony was out of the suit, and therefore vulnerable, she darted towards them, passing straight by the billionaire and jumping onto Steve fast enough to shift his focus from Tony to her.  Steve tried to strike her using the Iron Man suit, but failed, and then threw it to side as if it was garbage.

“Take cover”, Natasha yelled at him over her shoulder, punching Steve in the throat and barely managing to dodge the super-soldier’s attacks. They all knew that Tony was a genius, but without a suit, he was no use in close combat.

Tony hated this. He felt absolutely helpless without his suit. Natasha was a trained agent who had been genetically modified, and Peter had gone through whatever the hell happened to him that gave him superpowers. Steve was _America’s original super-soldier_ , for god’s sake. Tony’s only superpowers were being rich and smart. Right on that moment, neither of those things helped him in the least, because he didn’t have a suit and Steve was close to crunching every single bone on Natasha’s body.

“C’mon, Mr. Stark, I’ll get you out of here!”, a familiar voice snapped him out of his panic, and Tony’s head snapped up to find Peter standing above him, a hand stretched out towards him. Tony took the hand, grasping it as if it was a lifeline and shoving the humiliation of being saved by a 15-year-old kid who was like a son to him back into the back of his mind. He would have time to deal with all the emotions he was feeling later; right now, the best course of action was suppressing them, as he always did.

Peter passed an arm around Tony’s waist, holding him tightly, and shot a web out towards the top of a building. Before he could yank themselves up and flee, however, Steve managed to dodge Natasha’s feet and grabbed one of Peter’s ankles, throwing him back like a ragdoll. The boy screamed in surprise as he flew across the street, and Tony was consequentially thrown as well, hitting the ground hard and rolling several times before a parked car finally halted him. He tried to get to his feet, but everything was aching and, before he could get a hold of himself, Steve was on the top of him again, hand closing tightly around Tony’s neck.

“Steve”, Tony tried to said, but his voice sounded muffled and croaked by the hand squeezing the life out of him. He tried to scratch at Steve’s hands and pull them away like Peter had, but Peter was stronger than him and he didn’t stand a chance against Steve without the suit. He was emitting pathetic choking sounds as he tried to breathe and failed, desperation blossoming inside his aching chest. From the corner of Tony’s darkening vision, he could see Peter attempting to attack Steve again, but his efforts were easily dismissed by Steve, who acted as if the kid was an annoying bug and swatted him away with enough strength to make Peter’s back collide with a wall on the opposite side of the street.

“You should have minded your _damn_ business”, Steve said, but like it had happened with Natasha, this wasn’t _Steve_. This was just the damn telepath using his voice, but the sight was still horrifying, milky-white eyes starring dully at nothing as Steve’s voice spoke words that didn’t belong in his lips. Steve would never swear like that, not at Tony, or he wouldn’t hear the end of it from the amount of teasing. The hand around his throat was unrelenting, and there were black and white spots dancing in front of Tony’s eyes. It felt like nothing else mattered to the telepath other than having one of Tony’s closest friends murder him, and Tony would have shivered if his body had been functioning properly.

“Language”, Tony croaked, voice barely audible now. The hands struggling against Steve’s grasp were growing weaker by the second, but he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t die like this. He had survived Afghanistan. He had survived Obie, and Vanko, and Hammer, and Killian, and Loki, and the goddamn chitauri army in the wormhole that still haunted his nightmares, and Ultron, and he had survived Steve himself in the past. He couldn’t die like this. He couldn’t _die like this_.

At least he had been able to try to call Pepper before, when he had been flying towards his death in space. He had the chance to try and tell her he was sorry for everything. But right now, even if he had the chance to make a call, there wouldn’t be enough time to call everyone he wanted to apologize to. His mind instinctively flashed back to Rhodey, who had lost so much because of him, and Harley, who would never get his deserved scholarship if Tony died, and Peter, Peter who was standing right there, in danger, because of _him_ , because _Tony_ had dragged him into this life. He couldn’t breathe and he suspected that it wasn’t only because of the hand around his throat.

“If I’m going down because of you”, Steve’s voice said in a monotone, not displaying any emotions. “Then I might as well take you with me. You’re the only one to blame for this”.

And then Steve’s hand sank on his chest at full strength, and all of Tony’s senses that had been dulled from the lack of oxygen came to life as he felt strong fingers twisting around the arc reactor in his chest. Tony’s eyes widened as Steve closed his hand around the reactor and yanked it out of Tony’s chest at full force, tearing magnets and cables and wires so abruptly that it made Tony’s vision blacken out from sheer pain. All he could see was Obie, Obie lying to him, paralyzing him, threatening Pepper and leaving him to die, Obie who was like a better father than his own father, and who actually turned out to be worse. Obie who had smirked down at him as he paled and struggled to breathe through the pain, except this time the pain was a million times worse, not only because this was _Steve_ , and not Obie, but also because Steve had done it with his bare hands. He had ripped the reactor out of Tony with his _bare hands_.

_Howard didn’t deserve the son he had._

Tony tried to suck in a deep breath before he suffocated, but he failed. When he finally regained his vision, everything around him was a complete mess.

The reactor was lying forgotten right beside his head, glowing dully and perfectly normal, but even if Tony had the strength to reach for it, it would have been useless. The wires necessary to make a connection were ruined beyond repair, and simply shoving the thing back into his chest would probably do more harm than good. He could hear the distant sound of wrestling, Natasha’s grunts as she fought and flesh hitting flesh, but everything was moving too slowly as if in a movie and the sounds were muffled as if he was underwater. He vaguely wondered if he _was_ underwater, because he couldn’t breathe and his chest ached. Oh _god_ , his chest ached so much.

Then there was someone on the top of him, someone pulling him and holding him close, and Tony thought that the person was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. The hand touching him was trembling and all Tony could make out was a flash of blue and red, before his eyelids became too heavy for him to keep them open. However, as soon as he closed his eyes, someone slapped him, even though he could barely feel it because his face was numb. He was under the vague impression that there was a familiar voice calling his name, but it sounded like the person was miles and miles away.

His unfocused eyes searched for the person’s face, finding only a blotch that vaguely resembled a head. The person was moving, speaking, touching him, but he didn’t understand. His chest hurt. It hurt so much that he might as well just die, if only that would make the pain go away.

But he didn’t want to die, not really. Death terrified him. He didn’t want to die like this. Not like this. Not after all the things he had survived.

Everything was numb and hurting at the same time, and Tony knew the thought didn’t make sense. The voice above his head sounded desperate now, and something about its tone made Tony want to make a little bit more of effort to pay attention to whatever this person was saying. He couldn’t breathe or move, but he managed to tilt his head to the side a little bit, trying his best to focus.

“Please, Mr. Stark, open your eyes, you can’t die on me”, someone – Peter – was it Peter? – was saying. Tony hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed, so he tried his best to open them. He only managed to slightly part his eyelids, and deemed that a victory enough, considering how tired he was feeling. He knew he shouldn’t have gone over 50 hours straight without sleeping. Jarvis would be mad at him, if A.I.s could even _be_ mad, and would lock him out of his workshop again. Then he would probably call Pepper if Tony threw a tantrum and he didn’t want Pepper to scold at him. He was hurting all over and he was so, so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He would give this kid what he wanted and then he would go to sleep. “Yes! Yes, that’s it, Mr. Stark! Open your eyes! Please, tell me what do you need? How do I put the reactor back?”

Tony frowned, or at least thought about frowning, before remembering that he wasn’t in his workshop, and Pepper wasn’t coming to scold him. He was lying in the middle of a street, because Steve had ruined his suit and teared his arc reactor from his chest. He was dying. Shit. This poor kid was freaking out over Tony and it pained him to put him through that. He had researched about Peter, he _knew_ about the tragic loss of his uncle. He knew how much it had affected Peter, and how much it must pain him to see Tony in basically the same situation. But there was nothing Peter could do about the reactor. Unless Tony got himself back to the Stark Tower in less than fifteen minutes, the shrapnel in his chest would reach his heart and tear it apart for good. The arc reactor beside him was of no use anymore – it couldn’t be reconnected. He needed the spare one that was back at the Tower. There was nothing Peter could do.

Tony tried to speak, he tried to explain to Peter that it was too late, but there was no air left in his lungs. Actually, it was quite possible that he was having a heart attack right on that moment. Now that he thought about it, he was definitely having a heart attack.

“No, c’mon, Tony, please, don’t do this to me”, Peter begged, sounding like he was actually crying. Tony tried to keep his eyes open for the kid’s sake, but he really, really couldn’t. There was a darkness within him, a darkness that was pulling him down, further and further and further. “Please, oh god, not again, please, Tony, Mr. Stark, stay awake, tell me what to do, tell me how to help! Tony!”

Peter’s pleas became nothing but distant, muffled shouts as Tony’s consciousness escaped from his grasp, and the last thing he felt before he passed out was the touch of strong arms hoisting him up and pulling him away from Peter’s sobbing form.


	2. Chapter 2

There was an incessant and extremely annoying “beep-beep-beep” that was probably what rose him from sleep in the first place.

Tony winced, grimacing, wishing for the sound to stop and let him go back to his much needed and wanted sleep. He hadn’t realized how much he loved sleeping until he finally allowed himself to. He knew he always overworked himself, and as long as there was a tool in his hand, the need for sleep went mostly forgotten by his stubborn brain. Tony only remembered how _good_ sleeping felt when he either passed out from sheer exhaustion on his workshop’s couch or when Pepper came down and literally ordered him to go to bed – not in the metaphorical way.

God. He missed Pepper. He missed having her around, telling him to take care of himself and being angry with him for not obeying. He missed being able to hold her in his arms whenever the hole inside his chest felt too empty. He missed the way her hair smelled, and how soft her eyes looked whenever she saw Tony. They barely saw each other anymore, these days. As much as Tony didn’t want to admit, things between them had changed after New York. Flying through a wormhole to another point in space where an alien army was ready to attack him hadn’t exactly helped his previously unsolved emotional issues.

Remembering the wormhole made him realize that everything was so _dark_. He hadn’t realized it before, but now that he had, it was impossible not to. There was no signs of light, no signs of anything, only darkness, stretching further and further into an endless horizon that not even Tony’s genius-level brain could calculate. He didn’t like it. There was always light surrounding him, ever since Afghanistan, not only because the sickening darkness of the cave he had been kept in had made him scared of what could lurk beneath the shadows, but also because the arc reactor had been a constant glowing presence in his chest ever since. As soon as he developed his irrational fear of the dark, the arc reactor appeared in his chest, making sure that there would at least be some sort of lighting near him wherever he went.

But now, not even the comforting, bluish glow of his reactor could be seen amongst that deep, blinding darkness enveloping. Tony tried hard to figure out what was going on, and after a few moments of dizzy, confused concentration, he remembered feeling fingers digging deep into his chest and pulling his life-source out, out, out and away from him before he could do anything about it. The phantom pain that accompanied the memory made him grunt, and suddenly, he realized that he couldn’t speak. All he could do was grunt like an animal, because words refused to form themselves on his dry and chapped lips, and Tony had _no idea_ why. His already frightened brain began to panic, because he was lost in the dark, without his reactor and unable to cry for help. Someone had torn the reactor out of his chest. He was probably dying. Oh my god, he was probably dying. Or maybe he had already died. Was this what the after-life was like? Just never-ending, all-consuming darkness? Tony didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be dead. There were so much more he needed to do. He needed to research about those Infinity Stones Thor kept rambling about, and there was Harley’s college tuition, and Peter’s so-called “Stark Internship”, and the Avengers’ gadgets and safehouse and protection, and Pepper, and Happy, and Stark Industries, and Iron Man, and the world-wide security –

“What did you do?”, he heard a familiar voice call out in the distance, and relief instantly flooded him. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone in the darkness! There was someone there with him, someone he knew. It felt selfish to be happy that there was someone stuck there with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care on that moment.

“Nothing, Mr., uh, Doctor Banner, I swear, I did nothing, he just – I, I think he’s waking up, I don’t know, I couldn’t calm him down this time”, someone replied, sounding as distant as the first voice, and yet closer to him somehow. Tony recognized that voice too, and it made him feel things that he had only felt once before. But his brain was fuzzy and confused and slower than usual, and he couldn’t remember the name on the tip of his tongue for the life of him.

“I don’t like this, his heart rate is too fast”, the first voice replied, worried. Only then Tony noticed that the annoying beeping that had woken him from his slumber was three times faster, screeching manically and piercing the otherwise silent darkness. Was that his heart rate, then? Where was he? Wasn’t he dead? Was there a chance he was alive?

Tony wished he could talk to someone who would be able to explain what was happening to him, because even though he was a genius, he was completely lost. He had no idea what was going on, and he couldn’t remember what happened to him prior to the absolute darkness, other than the fingers tearing out his arc reactor.

His arc reactor. It had been taken away. Oh god, Tony was going to die without it. He needed to get the spare one back at the Tower. He needed someone to put it back for him, because he couldn’t move his arms. Bruce would know what to do. He needed to get to Bruce. He had seven doctorates and was as clever as Tony, he would know how to connect the spare one back without killing him. He needed to find Bruce, Bruce was his only chance at surviving.

“Bruce”, Tony mustered all his strength to speak, and yet, the name still ended up sounding more like a dry croak coming from the mouth of a dying man. He hated the sound of it, and he hated how sore it made his throat feel. He hadn’t even acknowledged the deep, burning pain in his throat until he attempted speaking.

“I’m here, Tony, can you hear me? Are you with us?”, the first voice asked him, sounding way closer now. It was almost as if Tony was merely a room away from this person, rather than an ocean. The calmness in the voice made him feel more confident, and he tried to speak again, only to be halted by a weird, numb feeling on his shoulder. “No, no, don’t speak just yet. Your throat is severely bruised, so just nod yes or no for me”.

And, because Tony was, had always been, and will always be a stubborn bastard who can’t do what he’s told and has no scrap of regard for his own well-being, he said:

“Bruce”

And passed out again.

 

 

 

“….. and I still don’t know what made me follow him that night, you know, I was so afraid, I mean, he was Liz’s _dad_! But he was also the guy who had been selling these _dangerous alien weapons_ to criminals all over New York and I couldn’t let that continue just because I was _scared_ , you know?”. A pause, and a deep sigh. “And then I followed him, but this crazy guy at the parking lot attacked me, and if it hadn’t been for Ned he would have probably killed me but then he showed up out of nowhere and webbed his gun and I took the distraction to glue him to one of the school buses, but when I got to the Vulture guy he had been waiting for me and made a whole speech on, on how the _Avengers_ were the bad guys, not him? And then before I knew better he dropped like, the _whole building_ on my head and I got stuck beneath what must have been, like, _a ton_ of concrete”.

There was another pause. Longer this time. Almost hesitant.

“I’d never been that scared before, you know? I… I mean, I… I had, actually. When… when my uncle Ben died, I…”, a sharp intake of breath. “When he died, I was there with him. I… he had… I had asked him to drop me out at the library to study, except I wasn’t really going to the library, and then he got caught in a robbery that only happened because of me, and then… and then…”, a shaky exhale. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell May all that, you know. She’d hate me if she knew that… That it was my fault. But seeing uncle Ben die because of me and being stuck beneath a ton of concrete is just as scary as seeing you like this, Tony, so please… just… I… I owe you so much, you know, without you I’d…”, another hesitant pause. “Just…”

“I’ll send you the bill for this little therapy session”, Tony said, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Beside his head, there was the sound of sneakers scratching the floor and a chair being dragged forcefully, both loud enough to make him wince. Peter must have noticed his discomfort, because he immediately pulled the chair back towards the bed, slowly and carefully as not to make any noise, and then the hand that had been holding Tony’s a moment before disappeared.

“Mr. Stark!”, Peter exclaimed in a hushed tone that did nothing to hide his excitement. “Oh my god, you’re awake? How long have you been awake? Do you need anything? Do you want water? I should probably call Bruce –“

“Kid, hush for a jiffy now, ok?”, Tony groaned, cutting Peter off, head still a bit fuzzy and eyes still closed. Peter was being too loud and he wasn’t ready to deal with the kid’s rambles yet – not that he had ever been.

“Ok, o-ok, Mr. Stark, just stay there, I’m gonna get Dr. Banner”, Peter instructed him anxiously, and his loud footsteps slowly disappeared into the distance.

“Sure, ‘m not going anywhere”, he grumbled, more to himself than to the absent Peter. Even though there was still a bone-deep tiredness within him, he tried to part his eyelids and finally open his eyes. It felt like a herculean task, since he had been unconscious for god-knows-how-long, and it felt like his lids had been glued together. Nevertheless, he was as stubborn as ever, and after some moments of incessant trial, he finally managed to blink his eyes open.

Everything was too bright and unfocused for his liking, and the white light sent a sharp stabbing sensation through his brain. It took him what felt like hours to partially make sense of his surroundings, and when Bruce finally entered the room, followed by a fidgety Peter, the corners of Tony’s vision were still blurry and unfocused.

“Glad to see you haven’t hulked-out because of me”, Tony commented sarcastically, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t exactly make out Bruce’s features, only the general shape of his head.

“Who says I haven’t?”, Bruce responded nonchalantly, standing by Tony’s bedside and checking his heart monitor and his IV. “You gave us all quite a scare”.

Tony didn’t reply to that, not sure of what he should say. Dealing with… emotions, and guilt, and apologies, none of that was his area of expertise. And he was too tired to try to hide his overwhelming feelings with dismissive comments, as he always did. If Bruce caught up to that, he didn’t let on.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked, a mixture of curiousness and concern in his voice. Tony sighed. He suddenly wanted to sit up and check out his arc reactor, check out the damage that had been inflicted onto him. He twitched on the bed, about to try sitting up by himself, but Bruce caught up to that and halted him with a comforting hand against his shoulder. “Do you want me to lift your bed?”

Feeling humiliated by his lack of agency over his own movements and a little overwhelmed that he was getting this much personal attention made Tony sigh, and he closed his heavy eyelids before nodding briefly at Bruce. The doctor promptly activated a button that made Tony’s bed fold until he was propped into a sitting position. When the blanket that had been covering him slid down to his waist as he moved, Tony realized that his shirt was gone and the arc reactor was completely exposed to the chilly air of the room. Not having any sort of protection over the device made Tony’s chest tighten, a knot appearing in his throat.

“Tony, bud”, Bruce called friendly from where he was still standing by Tony’s bedside, waiting for a response. “I’m going to need your help over here. I know how much you hate being in hospitals and feeling helpless, but if it helps, we’re still at the Tower. Fury made sure we had everything we needed to treat you right here, and no one other than me and two nurses have been tending to you. You don’t have anything to be anxious about, ok? You’re safe back here”.

“That’s cute, Brucey-bear, but you don’t really have to mother me around”, Tony offered him a fake smile, noticing that Bruce’s face was coming more into focus than before. Now he could kind of see his eyes, his lips and the general shape of his nose. Maybe the sitting was helping with that.

“Spare me of your attitude, Tony”, Bruce sighed tiredly. “Tell me how you’re feeling?”, he asked gently.

Tony sighed, leaning his head back against the pillows heavily. He could see Peter lingering by the door of the room, clearly unsure if he should wait outside or stay there with Tony. Tony wanted to roll his eyes at the sight, but decided against it, since it would probably only make him dizzier.

“I feel like the Hulk decided to tap-dance on the top of my chest”, he admitted, because he really didn’t want to die and Bruce was probably the only person that fell into the intersection of “people Tony Stark trusted” and “people who were qualified to deal with his issues”.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll see if there’s anything to be done about the morphine”, Bruce told him apologetically. “Here, you should drink this”, he said, offering Tony a glass of water with a pink straw. He didn’t wait for Tony to try and grab the cup, but rather placed the straw against his chapped lips and supported the back of his head with his spare hand. Tony felt angry about not being able to drink from a cup himself, but as soon as the water reached his throat, nothing else mattered. He gulped the liquid down greedily, until Bruce pulled it away from him. “You don’t want to drink too much at once or you’ll end up feeling sick. Puking right now would be terrible for your throat”.

Tony simply groaned, looking back at Peter, who was still standing awkwardly by the door, one arm crossed above his chest and biting at his thumb nervously.

“You know I’m not contagious, right?”, Tony said, addressing Peter. “You can come closer; get back to your divan”.

Peter meekly approached him, looking hesitant and the right amount of embarrassed. Since Bruce was still checking out the equipment on that side of Tony’s bed, he stood on the other side, away from his chair. Now that he had gotten closer, Tony could see the fading bruises on his cheek from where Cap had punched him and a nasty sewn cut already healing above his eyebrow. His split lip was barely noticeable anymore.

“Wow, you look awful, kid”, Tony said, meaning to break the ice. Peter chuckled nervously.

“Well, you should see yourself, Mr. Stark”, he said, clearly nervous about overstepping a boundary with that jest. Tony simply chuckled back at him, though the movement made his chest ache and feel constricted. Peter must have noticed his discomfort, because the smile died down on his face to give place to a worried frown. “I’m sorry”.

“For _what_?”, Tony raised an eyebrow, not really in the mood for dealing with teenage drama and apologies. He didn’t want to back to sleep just yet, but he was still so tired.

“For… not being able to help”, Peter admitted, sounding embarrassed. “I should… I should have stopped him. Before he could take the reactor out. I was right there, you know? I should have done something. And then, after, I couldn’t put it back. I didn’t know how to. I’m sorry”.

“You wouldn’t have been able to _put it back_ ”, Tony told him with an eye-roll, even though it did make him feel dizzier. “First, because you don’t have a doctorate in biomechanics, and second because the cable was ruined. I would have needed the spare one. Was it too hard to find?”, he turned his head to look at Bruce, who was on the opposite side of the bed. The doctor spared him a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the chart in his hand.

“No, Friday helped me through it”, Bruce said absentmindedly. “Thankfully for you, Vision arrived just in time to stop the teen and bring you back here before you were too far gone”.

“Did I wear you out too much?”, Tony raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“You can’t even imagine”, Bruce sighed tiredly. “It took me almost five hours to figure out how to repair the inner cables without electrocuting you. Thankfully you were close to the Tower and you equipped this place for every foreseeable emergency situation, otherwise…”, he trailed off.

“Yeah, that’s the good part of being a visionary”, Tony shrugged, pretending that the movement hadn’t hurt the hell out of him. “Makes you prepared for everything. You said Vision brought me back?”

“Yeah”, Bruce nodded, finally resuming his analysis and sitting idly at the edge of Tony’s bed, chart still clutched in one of his hands. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose, before he continued. “The kid couldn’t control him like he did to… uh, to the others, and Vision took him down. But then Cap called him on his coms and told him about what had happened, and he brought you back to the Tower right away. If he had been two minutes late, you wouldn’t have made it. He felt pretty guilty for not getting there sooner”.

Tony’s lips formed a thin line on his pale face, a serious look overcoming his features as he tried to imagine what a sight that must have been. He tried to picture himself, chest literally open, half-dead, being carried across the skies by a purple android that had reluctantly left his girlfriend’s side to aid Tony. He didn’t know what to think of the fact that it had been _Steve_ to call him, not Natasha or Peter.

“And the telepath?”, Tony asked, and he would have sounded anxious, had he not been Tony Stark.

“Locked in. He was put in a special cell so that he won’t be able to control anybody else. That Daisy Johnson girl is probably on her way to speak to him now”, Bruce explained. Tony hummed low on his throat, but then winced at how much it stung. “Ah. You shouldn’t be speaking this much”, he added, standing up from the bed and sounding like a wise elder. Peter lingered on the other side of the bed, clearly unsure of what to do.

“Care to share my diagnosis, doctor?”, Tony asked, voice raspy but tone unyielding.

“One bruised ankle, a badly-bruised larynx and hundreds of bruises all over your body. Basically, you’re one big bruise right now. You also went into cardiac arrest, _twice_ , until I finally managed to plug you to a generator so that I could fix the cables and put the reactor back in. Peter actually helped me a lot with that, really”, Bruce nodded at the boy, who was still standing awkwardly beside Tony. He seemed surprised that Bruce even acknowledged his presence, and blinked rapidly as if taken aback.

“Me? Oh, no, that was nothing. Just, just trying to make myself useful, you know?”, he said dismissively, shrugging as if saving Tony Stark’s life had been no big deal.

“He’s being modest”, Bruce told Tony with a knowing tone. “I probably wouldn’t have done it without him”.

“Really? You have seven doctorates and still needed a kid from Midtown Tech to give you a little hand?”, Tony raised an eyebrow, teasing. Peter chuckled nervously, and Bruce smiled, but there was something off about it. He placed his chart on the foot of Tony’s bed and hesitated for a moment, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

“Peter, could you give us a moment? I’d like to speak with Mr. Stark in private”, he said sympathetically, smiling considerately at Peter.

“Uh, sure, uh, of course”, Peter said, nodding emphatically. He lingered by the bed for a few more seconds before retreating to the door. “No problem, Doctor Banner”.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker”, Bruce replied over his shoulder, only turning his head back to Tony when he heard the soft click of the room’s door closing.

“Ok, so I will have to stop you right there”, Tony started before Bruce even had the chance to speak. “Whatever it is, save it for later, when I don’t have a migraine developing”.

“You don’t even know what I was about to say”, Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“I still don’t want to hear it. Right now, I just want to take a three-day nap and completely ignore everything that happened”, Tony said dismissively.

“Is the nap supposed to make up for the nearly sixty hours you ran without sleep?”, Bruce asked, an accusatory tone in his voice. Tony sighed heavily, head turned away from the doctor.

“Traitor”, he muttered towards the ceiling, aware that Friday would be hearing.

“She was right to tell me”, Bruce stepped in. “Did you know that your exhaustion played a major role on you going through _two_ cardiac arrests?”, he asked, sounding like an scolding father.

“I _do_ think that Rogers tearing the arc reactor right out of my chest played the major role at that”, Tony squinted his eyes, looking at Bruce defiantly and then tearing his eyes away from him.

“Don’t try to put this on Steve. You _know_ that he and Natasha were being mind-controlled, and had no agency over their actions”, Bruce argued seriously. Upon seeing the stiffness in Tony’s face, he added: “I know that what you went through wasn’t easy, it can’t have been. But they already feel guilty enough. It wasn’t their fault”.

“I know it wasn’t”, Tony turned to look at Bruce again. “But I can’t just get over what happened overnight”.

“I’m not asking you to”, Bruce replied. “I’m just asking not to shove it on their faces, _or_ to pretend that spending 56 hours without sleep is not incredibly unhealthy”.

“It’s what I do”, Tony shook his head, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him. He tightened his jaw. “It’s the only thing I can do”.

“No, it’s not, Tony”, Bruce said reassuringly. “You’re more than your suits”.

“Am I?”, Tony asked obnoxiously, tilting his head to the side. “Because from the last I saw, the moment I stepped out of my suit, my teammate shoved his hand in my chest and pulled out my life support”, he instinctively pushed the blanket closer to him, in a meek attempt to cover his chest and the reactor. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce, who sighed and dropped his head, tiredly. He took his glasses off and pretended to clean the lenses.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t talk about this now”, Bruce admitted, stepping away from the bed. “I don’t want you getting even more stressed out. But I’ve contacted Pepper and Rhodes, so I’ll leave the scolding part to them. They’re probably better than me at that”.

“What did you tell them?”, Tony asked, actually feeling a bit of dread at the pit of his stomach.

“The truth. But I didn’t exactly go into details”, Bruce said, placing his glasses back. “You should do something about Peter, by the way. I couldn’t convince him to go back home; I was hoping you’d be better at that”.

“How long have I been out?”, Tony asked, a sense of warm fondness blossoming inside his chest at the knowledge that Peter had chosen to stay by his side, even though Bruce tried to get him to leave. He had never meant to like this kid so much, but there was something about him that stirred something different in Tony. A sort of fraternal, deep affection – not love, he couldn’t afford to _love_ – that made him actually care about Peter’s well-being. Not that he would ever tell him that, of course – he wouldn’t want the kid to get over his head.

“Uh, around three days”, Bruce provided, and Tony couldn’t help but snap his head up at him in shock. _Three days_? He thought Bruce would say some hours, or one day at most. But three days was too much. Three days was the perfect justification S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to cut him off of the Avengers initiative, because who would want a man who could barely survive for ten minutes without an arc reactor in a superhero team? The only thing they really needed from Tony was his money and his gadgets, not his assistance on the field. And providing assistance on the field was precisely the reason why Tony had survived Afghanistan in the first place.

“Jericho”, he remembered Natasha telling him with a dull, white-eyed face, and Tony could tell that his heart monitor was probably going crazy right now, but he couldn’t snap himself out of his panic, because the list of names of people who had gotten hurt because of him was being repeated non-stop in his brain in Natasha’s voice. All those people and so many more had gotten hurt because of him, and now there was nothing he could do to make up to that, because he was stuck in a hospital bed and had been there for three days. He would be cut off from the Avengers. He wouldn’t be able to properly help people and atone for his past mistakes anymore. God, he had gone through _two cardiac arrests_. How the hell would he be allowed to stay on the team?

“ _Tony_!”, Bruce snapped, and only then Tony realized that the man had been calling his name several times. He looked up at Bruce, eyes wide from panic and hand clutching the bedsheets tightly over his chest. His breathing was harsh and frantic, and only then Tony realized how ridiculously weak he must have looked like, having a panic attack like that just because Bruce told him he’d been out for three days.

“Sorry”, Tony gasped, and somehow the apology made him feel – and sound – weaker. “I’m ok”, he sighed, chest aching from the effort of catching his breath.

“Tony, this can’t keep happening”, Bruce told him, concern evident in his face and his tone. “You need to seek professional help. Your heart won’t last long if you keep putting it through these spikes”.

“What, am I supposed to just sit down at a therapist’s divan and talk about my daddy issues?”, Tony huffed out a breath, even though his heart still felt like it was about to jump right out of his chest. He leaned back against the pillows that were propping him up, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to breathe through the pain and the remaining panic.

“You need medication”, Bruce told him seriously, reaching for Tony’s hand but deciding against it halfway. “This is the fifth panic attack you’ve had since you were brought back from the mission. I’m sorry, but this is out of my hands”, he shrugged helplessly.

“I thought you were the master of keeping calm”, Tony ironized, eyes still closed.

“You know that’s not how I control it”, Bruce shook his head. “I told you about it. You know that”.

“How come this is the fifth panic attack if you said I was out for three days?”, Tony frowned, reopening his eyes to stare at Bruce. Suspicion was evident in his voice, but Bruce merely sighed. If Tony didn’t know better, he would have sworn that there were new grey hairs on his head.

“You were having them in your sleep”, Bruce explained, running a hand across his face as if to smooth out his tired features. “Probably due to nightmares and the trauma you went through”.

“I don’t remember them”, Tony admitted, because he knew he could be honest with Bruce. Other than being his friend, the man had saved his life, for god’s sake.

“I wouldn’t expect you to”, Bruce replied simply.

“And I’m not _traumatized_ ”, he added, just for the sake of it. Because he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. He was Tony Stark, he didn’t _do_ trauma.

“Of course not”, Bruce complied with no resistance, which sent a confused frown to Tony’s face. “You’ve _been_ traumatized. Ever since Afghanistan”, he added. Tony scoffed at this, too taken aback by Bruce’s words to argue. “I really don’t think this is the best time to talk about this, Tony, but you can’t keep internalizing everything you feel. It’s damaging your health. It’s eating you _alive_ ”.

Tony tilted his head away from Bruce, so that the man wouldn’t be able to see his face. Everything his friend was saying was hitting too close to home. These were truths he didn’t want to hear, _couldn’t_ bear to hear, because that was just his modus operandi. The more precious time he took to think about his feelings and everything that had happened to him in his life, the less time he would have to focus on what really mattered. He was better off not thinking about any of his so-called traumas and working out ways to overcome them by himself, than wasting time and money that could be put into his suits with a shrink. H  e didn’t need a shrink. There was no shrink in the world he could trust, without fearing that they would reveal his secrets to either S.H.I.E.L.D. or his enemies. Tony didn’t know which was worse – having his enemies know his weaknesses, or having his friends know them. From his past experiences, either were equally bad.

“We will talk about this later, when you’re up on your feet”, Bruce told him in a tone that didn’t leave room for a discussion. “I have to check on Wanda now, but I’ll be back soon to see how you’re doing”.

“How is she?”, Tony asked, only then remembering that Wanda had been the first of them to get injured.

“She’s recovering well. The bullet didn’t hit anything major, so she should be up and about in no time”, Bruce told him. “Don’t worry about her. She’s fine. Better than you, actually”.

“See that you have everything you need to tend to her”, Tony instructed in his tired, business voice. “If S.H.I.E.L.D. decides to bail out”.

“They wouldn’t do that”, Bruce shrugged. “She’s an Avenger”.

 _At least, she is_ , Tony thought to himself.

“But I’ll see that the med team with her have everything they need”, Bruce reassured him, earning a nod from Tony. “Seriously though, Tony. You need to rest and not stress yourself out too much. I spoke to Steve and Natasha and they agreed to only speak to you after you’re completely recovered”.

“No need for such a fuss”, Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m ok. They have nothing to apologize for; they were under _mind-control_. Just tell them I forgive them, etc, etc.”, he waved a dismissive hand.

“Still, they want to see you in person”, Bruce said. “They’ve been worried sick about you”.

“Then send them in”, Tony sighed stubbornly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”, Bruce disagreed.

“I’m not traumatized, Dr. Banner”, Tony offered him a fake smile that dropped as fast as it reached his lips.

“You freaked out when I told you you’d had been out for three days”, Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s because your bedside manner is terrible”, Tony huffed.

“They’re not seeing you until I’m 100% sure you’re ready for that”, Bruce said, once again not leaving a breach for a discussion. Tony sighed. “Do something about the kid. He hasn’t gone home in three days, and he didn’t even agree to get a spare room in the Tower. He’s been sleeping on this chair the whole time”, he added.

Tony’s lips once again formed a thin line as he took in the information that Peter had been sleeping in a chair for three days because of him. He really wanted to scold Peter for having shitty self-preservation skills, but that would be extremely hypocrite of him. Still, all this display of affection made him scared. Ever since the beginning, Peter had clearly been too overly attached and affectionate to him, even going as far as hugging him in that car. Tony didn’t know how to deal with that. He didn’t like being handed things, he didn’t like distributing hugs. He liked the kid, that much was obvious, and he really cared about him, but he didn’t know how to show him that. Firstly, because he didn’t want Peter to take advantage of his feelings, like it had happened with so many other people in his past, and secondly, because Howard never showed him how to demonstrate affection. Tony’s dismissive and cold façade was nothing more than a mechanism of self-defense to prevent himself from ever being hurt by people close to him again. And not only that: it was also to prevent people close to _him_ from getting hurt.

Because the telepath had been right. Yinsen, Happy, Pepper, Rhodey – all of them had been close to him and got hurt. Just installing parachutes in Peter’s suit wasn’t enough to keep him safe from Tony’s clearly cursed presence. If Stark men were made of iron, then iron he had to be. Cold, unrelenting, unaffectionate.

“I’ll send him home”, Tony said simply, not really looking at Bruce.

“Ok. Call me if you need anything. And Tony”, he added seriously. “Take it easy with Peter. He really cares about you”. Bruce nodded at him before leaving the room. Tony was left by himself in the dim-lit room for only a few moments before Peter came back in again. Before the boy had the chance to say anything, Tony cut him off.

“What did you tell your aunt?”

“What?”, Peter asked, clearly confused and taken aback by Tony’s straight-forwardness.

“Your aunt. If you’ve been gone for three days, she must be worried about you. I’m assuming you made up some excuse for her”, Tony explained, groaning as he tried to adjust himself better on the pillows. Peter looked like he wanted to help, but didn’t know how. He settled for standing beside Tony on the bed, arms crossed defensively above his chest.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. I called her two days ago, told her there was an emergency at the Stark Tower and I’d need to be here for a while”, Peter explained. His tone of voice indicated that he was well aware of how weak that excuse sounded, but Tony hummed low on his throat.

“Bruce told me you haven’t left”, Tony said simply, finally finding a more comfortable position and settling himself back against his pillows. He was thankful that Peter didn’t try to step in to help him – that would have probably made him feel weaker than he already was and he wanted to grab whatever control he could over his own self. “So, it’s time for you to go home now”.

Peter stood beside him, blinking rapidly, face pale and clearly confused.

“Wha- what? But, Mr. Stark, I…”, he hesitated, clearly not having expected that the first thing Tony would tell him would be to _leave_. He was clearly afraid to tell Tony that the reason he wanted  to stay was because he liked him, and also because he had an issue with watching his uncle die and Tony was the closest thing he had to a father figure. Which was why Tony interrupted him and said, rather sharply:

“Listen, kid, I’m not your uncle Ben”.

All the anxiety in Peter’s face dropped and was replaced by an unreadable look, almost as if he immediately closed himself like an oyster as soon as he heard his uncle’s name. Tony was aware that he was being obnoxiously insensitive, but this kid needed to get home and take care of himself, and Tony really wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart. He couldn’t let Peter _get close_ to him. He could clearly picture Bruce’s disappointed face staring down at him for being so rude, but the kid was better off without seeing Tony as someone to look up to, anyway.

“I get it, you went through something traumatic, we’ve all been there, so get over it. It’s occupational hazard of being a superhero”, Tony continued, trying to tell himself that the hurt in Peter’s face wasn’t bothering him or making him feel guilty. “I’m ok now, so there’s no reason why you should stay here. Bruce already told you to leave and you did everything you could to help. Your assistance is no longer required”, he waved a dismissive hand.

“My… my assistance?”, Peter asked, squinting his eyes and managing to sound respectfully offended. “Is that why you think I am here? To prove myself and win some points with you?”

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. Why couldn’t teenagers just do as they were told without having to question everything?

“No, kid, I think you are here because you’re a teen who doesn’t know any better and you think you’ll be helping me somehow”, he explained tiredly. “You won’t. Now that we’re clear on this, you can leave. Bye”, he said trying to turn on his side so that he would have his back turned to Peter. His chest ached like hell and he wouldn’t have managed it by himself in a million years, so he just stayed there, awkwardly tilted on the bed and pretending that was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Mr. St– ... Tony”, Peter called, sounding confident and hesitant at the same time, somehow. The use of his first name was enough to make Tony sigh heavily and turn his head towards Peter, because if he was calling him anything other than “Mr. Stark” or “sir”, then it must be serious. “With, with all… I mean, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, or, or ungrateful, sir, but…”, he sighed loudly, clearly nervous. “I know you’re not uncle Ben”, he settled for saying, sounding much more mature than Tony had ever heard him.

A long moment of silence passed between them, in which Tony didn’t know what Peter wanted him to say and Peter didn’t know how he could say what he wanted to. His head was hanging low and Tony could clearly see that Peter was upset, and that _he_ was probably the reason why he was upset. It took Peter a few more moments to gather himself and continue.

“I know you’re not uncle Ben”, Peter repeated, sounding calmer and more composed than before. He actually managed to meet Tony’s eyes, this time. “And you… I mean, you’re not.  Him. But… But I care about you. And I know that you must care about me too, because you keep telling me to leave when things get too dangerous and you gave me my suit and, and you’re basically the reason why I am a superhero, you know? You… I just. I’m thankful to you, Mr. Stark. That’s all”.

“You don’t owe me anything, kid”, Tony sighed, because really? The reason this kid was here was because he thought he had a debt with Tony for giving him his suit?

“No!”, Peter immediately explained, eyes widening. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I _do_ owe you, Mr. Stark, a lot. I can’t even explain how grateful I am for, for everything, the suit, and meeting the Avengers, and the support, and the mentorship, and everything else. But this isn’t why I stayed, it’s just… agh”, he groaned in frustration, running both hands through his hair and accidentally disheveling it. “What you went through, it – it was pretty horrible. I just… I wanted to make sure there would be someone here for you. To help you through it”, he admitted in a low voice.

“I don’t need help”, Tony immediately said, ending up sounding like a stubborn child.

“Yes, you do, Mr. Stark”, Peter retorted, sounding like he was scared to death to go against Tony’s word, but like he needed to do it. ”I was there with you, when what happened – happened. I saw it. I honestly thought you were already dead when that purple dude came flying and took you away, and I was scared to death not because I’d… lose my mentorship or something, but because I’d lose… you”, he dropped his shoulders.

“That is… tooth-rotting sweet”, Tony said mockingly, because he was incapable of having a serious conversation with a 15-years-old kid that was coming clear about his feelings.

“I mean it, Tony. You’re important to…”, he hesitated. “To the world. The Avengers wouldn’t be the same without you”.

“Thanks, kid”, Tony said, mostly sincerely. “Now, if the little heart-to-heart is over, it’s time for you to leave”, he added.

Peter sighed, sounding defeated. He nodded his head once and stepped away from the bed.

“Sure. Ok, Mr. Stark”, he said, sounding slightly… disappointed. Tony tried not to think too much about it – if he did, he might end up regretting his harsh treatment and do something stupid, like apologizing to the kid or even going as far as giving him a hug. “Get better soon”, Peter said over his shoulder as he walked over to the door, shoulders slumped and head low.

“Peter”, Tony called him before he could open the door and leave. Peter turned back on his heels, face unable to hide the clear excitement he was feeling about Tony having called him back.

“Yeah?”, he asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“Call Happy to drive you home”, Tony waved a dismissive hand. Peter’s face dropped again, and Tony didn’t bother watching as he left the room, turning his head to the side instead and mustering all the remaining strength in his body to hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He wouldn’t cry because of what Peter had said. He wouldn’t.

If he did, he could blame it on the pain meds that were making his head fuzzy and confused, anyway.

 

 

 

 

He dreamt of white eyes, blond hair and strong hands.

He woke up with a shout, his own shout, so loud and piercing that it made his throat ache and his chest heave. It ached, everything ached, and then Bruce was there in a second, bursting through the door with wide, worried eyes and glasses askew on his face. His hair was disheveled as if he had been asleep himself, awoken only by Tony’s feral, desperate scream.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”, Bruce asked nervously, running towards Tony’s trembling form on the bed and checking him all over. Tony clung to the doctor’s arms, because he had been alone in the darkness again with no one but Steve with him, and Steve had teared his arc reactor out and it had hurt, it had hurt, it hurt so much. And then he had taken Peter, and smashed his head against the floor over and over until there was nothing left, and Tony couldn’t breathe then and he couldn’t breathe now, not even with Bruce there beside him, holding his forearms and saying something unintelligible to his face. The heart monitor above his head was beeping crazily, and Tony gulped down the water that Bruce offered him greedily.

“Where is – where is the kid?”, Tony panted nervously, swallowing dry several times and ignoring the cold sweat running down his face. Bruce frowned.

“You sent him home, Tony”, he said, a tinge of clear concern in his tone.

“No, he was right here, he was… he was here, he was right there, and Steve, he –“, Tony stopped himself before he ended up sounding too manic. Bruce was staring down at him with concern as Tony hyperventilated, fingers clutching at Bruce’s forearms with such force that they would probably leave bruises.

“You had a nightmare”, Bruce said, sounding explanatory and epiphanic at the same time. Tony let go of his bruised arms, running a hand across his sweat-ridden forehead. His hands were shaking too hard for him to feel comfortable, but Bruce simply sat at the edge of Tony’s bed and held one of them in his own. Tony’s first instinct was to pull his hand away from his friend’s grasp, but it did provide him some comfort, after all, so he left it there. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone”, Bruce shook his head sadly in self-reproach.

“I’m a big boy, I can spend a night alone in my own Tower”, Tony snapped, because the last thing he needed was for people to start patronizing him now.

“You can, but you shouldn’t have to”, Bruce said wisely. “You don’t need to shut yourself out, Tony, you have friends that care for you –“

“I don’t need your BS right now, Banner”, Tony gasped, finally regaining some control of his breathing. He allowed his arms to drop heavily beside him on the bed and leaned his head back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and trying to urge his heart to go back to normal. “What I need is to go back to my routine. I have too many unfinished projects and too little time to work them. I need a distraction. I’m going crazy stuck here”.

“I’m not letting you out of my care until I’m sure you’re 100% recovered, Tony, I already told you that”, Bruce protested.

“You’re such a mother hen. You’re not even my actual doctor”, Tony sighed.

“Lucky for you, I am _a_ doctor and I happen to be one of the only people in the world who understand how that thing in your chest works”, Bruce retorted. “So you’re not leaving this room until I say you’re allowed to”.

“Am I confined in my own tower like a helpless princess?”, Tony raised an eyebrow.

“No, you’re confined in your room like a man who had two full-on cardiac arrests and is clearly undergoing trauma for being attacked by two of his friends”, Bruce said, a little bit too sharply. He must have noticed the effect of his words on Tony, because he immediately dropped his head and sighed. “I’m sorry”.

“No, you aren’t”, Tony rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry for _how_ I said it, not for what I said”, Bruce complemented. “I still think you need help beyond what I can offer”.

“And I still think you’re being a pain in the ass”, Tony huffed.

“Well? I learned from the best”, Bruce said, checking Tony’s heart monitor. “Do you need me to stay with you until morning?”, he asked.

“What do I look like, a 4-year-old?”, Tony raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I’ll be fine. Go back to your hulk-nest”.

“I didn’t ask you what you _want_ , I asked you what you _need_ ”, Bruce refuted. “You really shouldn’t be alone right now”.

“I don’t need to be watched over, Bruce”, Tony sighed. “I’ll call you if I need anything”.

“I’ll leave an agent by your door, anyway”, Bruce announced nonchalantly, sounding slightly disappointed at Tony’s stubbornness. “Better safe than sorry”.

“Mother hen”, Tony sighed, already turning his head and closing his eyes just so that Bruce would leave him alone faster. He could hear the sounds of the doctor fidgeting with equipment and checking Tony over one last time before he left. However, Tony didn’t hear the sound of the door closing after it clicked open, and he turned his head to see what was holding Bruce up.

“Tony”, he said, voice more soothing and calmer than it had been before. “Do you want me to call Peter back?”

Tony wanted to make a joke, to ask Banner if he had gone crazy, to say that no, he didn’t need to babysit his babysitter, that he didn’t need Peter by his side. The kid was fine. He was back at home, he was doing his homework or studying for his quiz or whatever, and the last thing he needed to worry about was Tony. So, he had a nightmare. No big deal. That wasn’t his first and it wouldn’t be his last. It didn’t matter that the image of Peter’s blood pooling on the floor beside him was still embedded in his head, or that the sound of Peter’s skull cracking and opening was still clear enough in his memory to make him nauseous. If Bruce said the kid was fine, then the kid was fine. It had been a _nightmare_ , nothing more. It wasn’t real. Peter was fine. It would be ridiculous to call the kid over to the Stark Tower in the middle of the night, over a stupid nightmare.

“It’s just that you seemed to sleep more peacefully when he was around”, Bruce added when Tony didn’t respond. “You still panicked every now and then, but he always talked you out of it more easily than I could”.

Oh.

“You were the one who told me to get rid of the kid”, Tony argued, because he didn’t really want to confirm what Bruce had just said. Why was everyone so keen on making him talk about feelings?

“I told you to _do something_ about him, not kick him out of here like a stray dog”, Bruce retorted, raising a displeased eyebrow at Tony. “I don’t know what you told him yesterday, but he looked pretty shaken up when he left here. Maybe it’d be good if he came back. For both of you”, he suggested.

But calling Peter back would be proving that he needed him, which Tony didn’t. He could do just fine without Peter. He had done perfectly so far before he met the kid. He didn’t need _Peter_ in order to get a good night of sleep. What he needed was his workshop, and his tools, and his suits, and his unfinished projects. Those were the only things capable of keeping the nightmares away. Not _Peter Parker_ , c’mon.

“Leave him be”, Tony shrugged, sighing and trying to sound as neutral as he could. “Kid has his own life to take care of”.

Without saying anything else, Bruce left, clicking the door close softly behind him. In order to prevent further embarrassing nightmares, Tony decided it would be better not to sleep at all.

_Praestat cautela quam medela._

“Just let the kid go”, Tony pleaded, hands raised in a calming gesture, even though there was nothing calm about him on that moment. His pleas fell to deaf ears, however, because before he could do anything, before he could _move_ , Natasha snapped Peter’s neck and the boy fell limply to the floor with a sickening thud, limbs lifeless and askew. His eyes were still open and staring at Tony with a vacant expression, and this was wrong, so wrong, because he was too still and Peter was always moving and fidgeting and talking and pissing the hell out of Tony. He fell to his knees, shocked, and was easily grabbed from behind by strong hands that wasted no time in tightening around his neck, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until there was nothing left inside him but pain and a useless reactor…

He woke up with a jolt, but thankfully made no sound other than a startled gasp. He looked around, blinking, and sighed in relief to find himself back at his own room in the Tower, rather than the room in the medical lab. The room was dim-lit and the curtains had been drawn closed, the glow of the functioning reactor in his chest being one of the only source of light. There was an Iron Man suit standing sentinel at the door.

“How long?”, Tony asked to the ceiling, hating how constrained his own voice sounded. His breath was still tight in his throat, and he had to take several deep intakes before he could breathe properly again.

“You have slept for three hours and seven minutes, sir”, Friday promptly provided. “Doctor Banner has required me to inform him if your sleeping cycle fell under six hours per night –“

“Override that”, Tony said dismissively, shifting on the bed and standing up. His knees wobbled at first, but he managed to regain balance without much trouble. It had been almost three days since the accident, and another three since Bruce allowed him out of the damn medical lab and back to his regular room. He was still under close observation from the over-protective doctor, and banned from his workshop until second notice, but he was still allowed to come and go wherever he pleased, as long as he didn’t exert himself, and as long as Bruce didn’t scold him all the way back to bed, which seemed to happen more often than not.

It wasn’t as if he had many places to go, though. At least not without risking meeting Steve or Natasha in the middle of the way.

“Override is not possible”, Friday informed him after a few seconds of processing. “Doctor Banner applied the ‘Hostage Situation’ Protocol”.

“Hostage Situa– _what_?!”, Tony frowned at nothing in particular, indignant.

“Doctor Banner has required that, in case you asked about the details on Hostage Situation Protocol, I should inform you that, quote, ‘you are a hostage of your own self’, unquote”, Friday answered.

“That is ridiculous. That doesn’t even make any sense”, Tony huffed, pointing an accusatory finger at nowhere in particular. “What time is it?”

“It is currently 2:32 in the morning, sir”, Friday replied.

“Hm. Is there anyone awake in the Tower?”, Tony asked, running a hand through his hair, which was unruly from sleep.

“Only Captain Rogers and you, sir”, Friday supplied.

“He’s not a real captain, you know”, Tony said, trying to pretend that the information didn’t disturb him, even though he had no reason to be disturbed by that. “The title is just honorary. But whatever, give me eyes on the Capsicle”, he rubbed his hands together for warmth, grabbing his tablet from the table and sitting back at his bed. Friday immediately displayed a live footage of the training room on the screen, showing Steve viciously attacking a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. There was no sound in the feed, but the sight alone was enough to make Tony’s breath catch in his throat. He literally knew how it felt like to be that punching bag.

Steve seemed to be pretty battered himself, however. Even in the bluish lighting of the hidden camera, and even through the distance the super-soldier was standing from it, Tony could see the heavy bags beneath Steve’s eyes and how sunken and thinner his face looked. If Tony hadn’t known that Steve couldn’t possibly get sick, he would have thought he had come down with something. There was a layer of sweat covering his brow and his face was scrunched in concentration as he delivered punch after punch, never stopping until the bag went flying across the room and fell heavily to the floor. Tony turned his eyes away, unable to watch anymore. The only reason he wasn’t more disturbed by that display was because when Steve had kicked his ass and torn the reactor from his chest, his expression had been vacant and his eyes, white, whereas there were too many emotions crossing his face on that live feed.

“What is it with this guy and punching bags? He’s going to get me bankrupt, if I keep replacing them every other day”, Tony commented with a forced absentmindedness. “What are the chances I’ll run into him should I go to the kitchen to grab a snack?”

“15,4%, boss”, Friday responded.

“Eh, that’s risky enough. Ask DUM-E to grab something tasty for me”, he instructed, cutting off the feed that showed Steve picking up the fallen bag from the floor before he could hang it back up again. Tony tossed the tablet to the side and stood up from the bed once more, pretending he wasn’t feeling dizzy with the sudden movement.

“Sir, I must remind you that I will have to inform Doctor Banner about your sleep cycle –“, Friday started, but Tony waved a hand before she could continue, grabbing himself a shirt from his closet and putting some slippers on.

“Banner asked to be informed if I didn’t sleep at least six hours per day, is that correct?”, Tony asked, silently walking past the Iron Man suit and out of the room.

“Indeed”, Friday agreed.

“The day isn’t over yet. Actually, it’s just begun. I’ll sleep the remaining hours later, and if I don’t, then you can tell Banner about how I’ve misbehaved. In fact, do me a favor and tell him I was a ‘naughty boy’, while you’re at it. Make sure to snap a picture of his reaction”, Tony said, reaching the elevator and entering it. Friday didn’t answer him, as if the information Tony had just told her was being processed and overriding Bruce’s protocol breech. He pressed the button that led to his workshop, silently leaning against the cold metal surface of its interior and pretending it wasn’t soothing and painful to his back at the same time. Tony knew that the fever that had settled in after his first day in the medical room hadn’t run off completely, and every now and then he had spikes of intense cold-sweat and shivering that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how many medicines he took. Turns out having an unwashed, uninvited super-soldier hand thrusting itself into the already unsteady hole inside his chest wasn’t really health-friendly. The bruises around Tony’s neck weren’t the only injuries Steve left behind, and the violence with which he pulled the reactor out, rather than twisting it and detaching it properly, had caused an infection to settle in. According to Bruce, Tony should recover completely from it with proper rest and a healthy eating routine, but there he was, already breaking the first condition.

He liked being alive, he really did. In fact, he loved being healthy and not depending on anyone to take care of him, or worry about him. But he couldn’t sleep. In the first two nights back at his own room, he had managed to stay at his bed after his nightmares, fighting back the urge to stand up and leave. But enough was enough. Tony couldn’t stand this anymore, he couldn’t stand waking up covered in sweat and shaking like a leaf because of a stupid nightmare, of all things. His mind and his body were both idle, in need of stimuli, in need of _work_. The only way he would get better was if he did what he was good at – working. Keeping his mind busy, and all that.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, finding the door to his workshop locked. He sighed, already knowing that something like that was bound to happen.

“Friday, unlock the door”, he instructed patiently, but his eyes were already rolling.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, boss”, Friday responded simply, and if Tony didn’t know better, he would have sworn he could hear a defiant smirk in her tone.

“What is your prime directive again?”, Tony asked with a sigh.

“To keep you safe from harm and ensure your well-being”, Friday promptly responded. “Even though you don’t always make it easy”, she added sarcastically, and Tony snorted both in surprise at the A.I.’s sassiness and in self-congratulation at his own genius for programming her like that.

“The arc reactor is malfunctioning. Allowing me inside the workshop will ensure my well-being _and_ keep from harm, since I’ll be able to fix it and, I don’t know, _not_ drop dead next time some hormonal teen decides to act stupid in the neighborhood”, he argued, giving himself a mental pat in the back for how clever he was.

“No malfunctions have been detected in the arc reactor”, Friday retorted after a few seconds, as if she had been scanning Tony.

“If Steve Rogers managed to tear it out of my chest without breaking a sweat, then it’s not functional enough. No one but me should be able to remove the reactor. I should have learned it on the first time”, he muttered the last bit to himself, any sense of self-confidence he might have felt on the moments before completely vanishing. “This”, he tapped the reactor in his chest, “is obsolete. I need a new one that will not cause me two cardiac arrests in the same day”.

Friday remained silent once again, taking everything Tony had just said into consideration. Her primary goal was to attend to Tony’s need, no matter what override Bruce had used or how much she agreed with the doctor. Tony’s argument made sense and her programming knew it. She had no way out but to obey.

“Plus, it will help me sleep better”, Tony added, because it was true and he knew that it would be the cherry on the top of his argument. After a few seconds, there was an actual sigh from the A.I. and the door to his workshop unlocked with a click. Tony’s smile beamed and he clapped his hands together, shaking them close to his chest.

“I will be forced to inform Doctor Banner should you not complete a sleeping cycle of at least six hours today”, Friday reminded him vengefully, sounding almost angry with Tony for overriding her protocols so easily.

“Whatever gets you off, honey bun”, Tony said absentmindedly, already making his way to his desk and feeling tempted by all his half-finished projects. It felt like an eternity since the last time he had been in the workshop, getting his job done, right before the mission that screwed everything up, even though it had been less than a week. He could see the screwdriver he had been holding when he received S.H.I.E.L.D.’s call to assemble, still lying forgotten on his dusty desk. Everything about the empty workshop was exactly the same, but _he_ wasn’t, and this disparity made the place seem so surreal and out-of-reality that Tony didn’t even realize he had been standing up in complete silence for almost three minutes straight until he felt someone poke at his shoulder and almost jumped out of his skin. Turning around abruptly and taking several steps back in his surprise, he found DUM-E there, right behind him, holding up a plate with a badly-made sandwich and a glass of milk.

“For _god’s sake_ , don’t sneak up on me!”, Tony scolded, a hand to his chest, panting heavily. DUM-E emitted whirling noises that sounded almost sad, lowering the plate to Tony’s desk and getting back almost remorsefully. Tony sighed, leaning over the desk and ignoring the ache that had resurfaced inside his chest because of his surprise. He pulled himself a chair, sitting down and burying his face in his hands as he tried to normalize his breathing, and didn’t even notice DUM-E sadly leaving the workshop.

“Sir, your vitals –“, Friday started.

“ _I know_ ”, he cut her off sharply, feeling angry at himself for reacting so badly because of a robot bringing him a snack and because of Friday for constantly trying to mother him. He was fine, he wasn’t made of porcelain, he could _take care of himself_. He didn’t need her or Bruce or anyone worrying about him unsolicited. “Let’s get to work”, he informed the A.I., slamming his hands on the metal table and suppressing everything he was feeling in order to clear his head. That was what he always did. That was what he was taught to do. That was the only way he knew how to operate.

He could deal with his emotions later, when he was done with his job, and even so, he wasn’t really sure he had to. Dealing with emotions wasn’t his strongest suit, and they had never done him any good, anyway.

 

 

 

“I’m not so sure about this…”

Bruce sighed heavily, throwing his head back and actually considering dropping out of all this mess and locking himself in a Hulk-proof room. He should not be this stressed out, but hey, there was no way he’d be peaceful around _Tony Stark_ , of all people. He had first assumed that, out of all the other Avengers, Steve would be the most reasonable one, but he was clearly mistaken, since the super-soldier was standing nervously beside him, arms crossed above his chest protectively as they waited outside Tony’s personal bedroom.

“Look, Cap, I just think it will be best for you both to talk it out and get this whole mess over with”, Bruce explained tiredly for what felt like the thousandth time. “But if you’re not sure about it, then don’t do it”.

“I… I just…”, Steve hesitated, lowering his head in frustration. Bruce squinted his eyes at him, waiting for the man to continue. “I don’t… I just… I want to make sure he’s ok”, he admitted.

“He’s getting there”, Bruce provided.

“And that he’s not… mad”, Steve continued, clearly embarrassed. The “at me” lingered unsaid in the air.

“He’s not”, Bruce sighed, running a hand across his face and taking his glasses off for a moment before putting them on again. “He doesn’t blame you, _or_ Natasha. He’s just… _Tony_ ”, he shrugged apologetically. “This is how he deals with things. He isolates and licks his wounds until he’s ready to suppress his feelings and resurface. He’ll get there eventually, and even if I think that you two should talk to each other and put an end to this mutual moping, you should only do it when you’re ready to do it. You wouldn’t want to make things even worse”.

“No”, Steve immediately said, eyes widening at the prospect of making things even worse. “No, of course not”.

“So there”, Bruce clapped both hands against the sides of his legs, almost victoriously. “Look, I’ll get in first to see how he is. I left him alone all day to check on Wanda and, well, my own health before I could lose it, so I need to see how he is before you can step inside. You can come in after me, or not. It’s up to you. I do think it’s past the time you talked with him”.

“Ok”, Steve nodded, reluctantly. He still looked hesitant, but there was a familiar spark in his eyes that told Bruce that he was gathering the courage necessary to finally speak to Tony and settle things between them. Of course, none of them would ever be able to forget what had happened, but Steve needed Tony to know that he would never, ever be able to hurt anyone in that way, and that he hadn’t been in control of his actions.

Remembering had been the worst part to Steve. When he first snapped out of the telepath’s mind-control and found himself stuck in Spider-Man’s webs, he didn’t understand what was happening to him. And then he had blinked and the next thing he knew he had his hands around Natasha’s neck and Tony was lying unconscious on the floor, Peter sobbing and Vision hovering in the air above him, an unconscious teenager in his arms. When Steve tried to approach Tony to see what was wrong with him, Peter had thrown himself protectively in front of the unconscious man, yelling something that Steve couldn’t really make sense of and literally acting as a human shield for Tony. And then Vision had held the billionaire in his arms and taken off towards the Stark Tower, leaving them all behind with the arc reactor lying forgotten on the floor. Steve could still remember the sickening realization that the reddish hue covering the usually bluish glow was Tony’s blood.

It wasn’t until hours and hours later, after Steve was checked up by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical team for possible side effects or lingering compulsions from the mind-control, that he remembered everything that had actually happened. In fact, it wasn’t until he was dozing off outside the room where Tony was still undergoing surgery that he remembered, slowly and through confusing flashes of memory, what he had done with his bare hands. Natasha had been sitting there with him, two chairs apart from her friend. She had the same troubled look in her face, but just as much as she didn’t talk to Steve about it, Steve didn’t talk to her about it, either.

Once he had known Tony was out of danger and merely sleeping after surgery, Steve allowed himself to go back to his room and sleep his guilt off, since his face was probably the last thing Tony would want to see after first waking up. Natasha had taken off before him, once Clint arrived and greeted her with a silent hug, so there had been no reason for Steve to stay alone in that room, waiting for a man who didn’t even want to see him. His mistake was believing that his regret was something he would be able to sleep off, and nightmares permeated his sleep ever since the incident. The punching bags at the Tower’s training room became his new best friends, and whenever Natasha appeared to train while he was there, Steve left with a simple nod without really meeting her eyes. They were friends, and they both had been under mind-control, but fighting her again wasn’t something Steve ever wanted to do. Plus, the way he could see his own hand-prints still purple and fading around her neck made his stomach churn and his chest tighten. Perhaps he should apologize to her, too.

He needed to talk to Tony. He needed to tell how deeply, immensely, unfathomably sorry he was for everything that had happened, even though it hadn’t been his fault. He needed Tony to know that he, the real Steve, would never, ever, _ever_ do something like that on purpose. He just needed Tony to _know_.

Steve was so caught up in his own thoughts that it took him longer than it should to realize that the door to Tony’s room was open, and that Bruce was yelling something from inside. His gut feeling told him that there was something wrong about the whole exchange, because Bruce wouldn’t yell at a sick person, would he? Not meaning to disrespect Tony’s privacy, Steve knocked on the door and peeked inside, finding out, with horror, that Tony was nowhere to be seen and that Bruce was yelling at the ceiling.

“ _How_ long?!”, the doctor asked, clearly exasperated. Steve’s breath hitched on his throat upon noticing the greenish tinge that seemed to be appearing on Bruce’s temples.

“Ever since two in the morning, doctor”, Friday’s mechanical voice promptly replied, and Steve frowned. Did that mean…?

“What about the Hostage Situation protocol, Friday? We had a very specific agreement”, Bruce told the A.I. accusingly, looking like he was on the verge of losing his calm and actually Hulking-out in the middle of Tony’s room. “You should have informed me that he left. Where _is_ he right now?”

“I’m afraid Boss has a very clever way of overriding my protocols, doctor”, Friday explained apologetically. “He has been in his workshop ever since he woke up”.

Bruce paused at this, blinking dumbly at the ceiling and standing very, very still for a long moment. Steve couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“He’s been. In the workshop. Since 2 in the morning?”, Bruce asked, his tone paused and apparently collected, but Steve didn’t even need to know Bruce well enough to understand that this was just the calm before the storm. Steve nervously glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand beside Tony’s desk. It was around 10 p.m.

“Yes, doctor”, Friday agreed, almost grieving.

Without another word, Bruce barged out of the room, walking straight past Steve without even sparing him a look, and the super-soldier immediately followed the doctor out, only half-aware of how serious the situation was. Despite everything, he knew that it couldn’t possibly be healthy for a man who had just undergone two cardiac arrests and a severe surgery barely a week before to be working for twenty hours straight. Was Tony really that stupid, or did he have no regard for himself at all?

“Stats”, Bruce said sharply, coldly, and he would have sound detached if Steve wasn’t highly aware of the remaining green that was now spreading to his forehead. They stepped inside the elevator and Bruce pressed the button that Steve recognized as leading to Tony’s workshop.

“Boss’s body temperature has been slowly increasing throughout the day, and it is now currently 102,2 ºF. His vitals seem to be normal, though he’s been having trouble focusing and standing due to his fever. He’s on the verge of severe dehydration and the last thing he consumed was a glass of milk and a sandwich, ten hours ago”, Friday provided.

“Shit”, Bruce muttered under his breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes as the elevator went down, clearly trying to control himself. “God _damn_ you, Tony. Friday, why didn’t you tell me about the fever? I asked you to warn me in case something happened”, Bruce asked accusingly.

“Boss made a very good point that fixing his reactor would fix all the other problems intervening with his health and thus boost his recovery”, Friday argued. Steve frowned, head snapping up towards the elevator’s ceiling, even though he knew there was no possible way he could see Friday’s face.

“His reactor? What’s wrong with his reactor?”, Steve asked, unable to prevent the guilt and concern from seeping into his voice. “I thought you’d said his reactor was ok”, he added, glancing at Bruce with something akin to fear in his eyes. If he had damaged Tony’s reactor to the point that the man had dragged himself to his workshop to fix it, Steve would hardly forgive himself, mind-control or not.

“The reactor is operating at full capacity”, Friday provided before a confused-looking Bruce could reply. This only served to make the doctor even more confused, and Steve completely lost as to what was happening. The elevator pinged and they stepped out, finding the door to the workshop closed, but not locked.

“If it’s operational then why is he trying to fix it?”, Steve asked nothing in particular.

“Boss is improving the reactor’s casing so that no one but him will be able to unplug it from his chest”, Friday explained, sounding almost apologetic. Steve’s face immediately fell.

“Oh”, was all he could muster as a response. Bruce eyed him for a few seconds in silence before he sighed.

“Just… don’t come in yet, but stay here”, Bruce conceded with a calming wave of his hand, even though he didn’t look calm at all. “I might need your help to drag him out of there”.

“Bruce, I don’t really think…”, Steve started, but before he could finish, the doctor pushed the door to the workshop open with a mechanical hiss and stepped inside. “… that me dragging Tony would be a good idea”, he finished, voice low, head dropping. He sighed helplessly, unable to help hating himself for what he had done. He leaned his back against the glass of the workshop and allowed his mind to drift as he stared at the blank wall ahead of him and waited for instructions from Bruce.

Bruce approached Tony at his working desk unnoticed, which was enough sign of how out of it the billionaire was. An arc reactor lied forgotten and discarded at the corner of his desk, and the bluish glow of the new replacement in Tony’s chest seemed dimmer and fainter, almost as if concealed. The man was crouching over something that would have passed as spandex to anyone else, but that Bruce recognized for what it was. A suit. A _Spider-Man_ suit.

“Tony”, Bruce finally called, after he stood with his arms crossed above his chest directly in front of the man for what felt like an eternity without earning any sort of reaction. Upon hearing Bruce’s voice, Tony startled, jolting on his seat and nearly dropping the tool he had been using on the suit. His eyes were wide, glazed and unfocused as he stared up at Bruce, seeming to take a couple of seconds to recognize him. Once he did, he sighed, shoulders dropping and head hanging back from his shoulders as he glared at the ceiling accusingly.

“You could have at least told me he was coming”, he told Friday, remorsefully. His voice sounded tired and there were heavy bags beneath his eyes.

“I did, sir”, Friday retorted simply, almost concerned. “I warned you four times before Doctor Banner reached the workshop”.

“Next time, warn me harder”, Tony said, and then, ignoring Bruce’s presence altogether, picked his tool back up and returned to his task of fixing something in the suit.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”, Bruce asked as calmly as he possibly could, and it took all of his self-control not to Hulk-out.

“Suit”, Tony responded simply, as if Bruce was a child, actually waving him off with a dismissive hand. Bruce’s eyebrows shot up in indignation, and without a second thought, he yanked the tool away from Tony’s hand in order to get his attention. Tony sighed in resignation and allowed his hands to drop, staring up at Bruce. “Yes, mother?”

“You do realize you have a fever and that you’ve been here for literally 20 hours?”, Bruce snapped, disbelief evident in his voice. Tony frowned.

“Oh. That explains a lot”, he commented absentmindedly, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to Bruce.

“You should be in _bed_ , Tony”, Bruce continued angrily. “I told you you could come back to your toys once you were fully recovered, but you preferred to trick your A.I. and sneak behind my back”, he accused. Tony rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Listen”, Bruce continued seriously after huffing out a calming breath. “I’m not this kind of doctor, ok? I don’t have the temper to deal with stubborn patients who actively try to get themselves killed –“

“That’s not what I’m doing”, Tony cut in, but Bruce didn’t allow himself to be interrupted.

“Yes, it is! Your heart stopped twice and now you’ve been working non-stop for 20 hours!”, Bruce snapped. Tony had the decency not to interrupt him again, for once, and turned his head to the side as if that conversation was extremely inconvenient to him. “I can’t do this, ok? You can either let me help you back to health, or I’m going to call Pepper and let her deal with your tantrums. There isn’t a third option, and getting anywhere near your workshop is not one, either”, he added like a scolding father.

Tony didn’t face Bruce for a long time as he took in everything his friend said, lips tightly forming a thin line and eyes staring blankly at his messy working desk. Bruce waited for a response, for any sort of indication that Tony had listened to him and would actually comply for once in his life, but the man simply sat there, looking angry and conflicted. Huffing out a breath, Bruce turned on his heals to leave the workshop. He didn’t have the health to deal with Tony’s stubbornness. He wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t fair to throw everything on Pepper once again, especially now that they weren’t together anymore, but she knew how to deal with Tony better than Bruce. Before he could leave, however, he was stopped on his tracks by Tony’s hoarse voice finally speaking up.

“I can’t sleep”.

Bruce slowly turned around in order to face his friend again, finding the helplessness in his eyes to be evident and mixed with honest tiredness. A few seconds of silence passed.

“I can’t sleep, and whenever I can, I wake up sweating and panting from a nightmare”, Tony continued. He wasn’t looking straight at Bruce, but rather staring at his own knees as if ashamed of himself. He looked to be in need of reassurance.

“Go on”, Bruce motivated him, calmly.

“I needed to fix it”, Tony shook his head after a few more moments of silence, looking conflicted at the same time he tapped at the new reactor in his chest in an expositional manner. “This… I couldn’t sleep, knowing that it was still… vulnerable. That anyone could tear it out again at any moment”, he admitted.

“Tony…”, Bruce tried, gently, but Tony shook his head again, looking frustrated.

“And then I fixed it but I couldn’t stop thinking about the kid and how he was vulnerable too, because he has those weird spider-powers but he’s not _immortal_. He’s not like… _us_ ”, he gestured vaguely at the empty space between himself and Bruce. “He’s not experienced. He didn’t even ask for this”, he sighed.

“I didn’t ask for what happened to me, either”, Bruce commented.

“But you were aware of the risks. Occupational hazard is our thing, not his”, Tony argued. “He’s just a _kid_ ”.

“A kid who can lift almost a hundred tones all by himself”, Bruce added. “I get that you worry about him, Tony, but you don’t need to overwork yourself because of this. Peter is fine, he’s back at his house with his aunt. He’s not under any sort of threat”.

“We’re always under threat”, Tony said seriously, finally meeting Bruce’s eyes. He looked almost offended at the doctor’s words. “And I was the one who dragged him into this. The least I can do is try to keep him safe”.

“You won’t be able to protect him if you kill yourself from exhaustion”, Bruce pointed out, crossing his arms above his chest again.

“I won’t be able to protect him if he _dies_ ”, Tony counter-argued, trying to stand up from his chair and swaying on his feet. Bruce made to help him, but he snapped the doctor’s hand away as he leaned on his desk for support. “This is all I have. You turn into a green monster, and Steve was hooked up with some crazy steroids, and Peter was bitten by a magical spider. But not me. All I got was torture and a ticking bomb for a heart”, he swayed again, this time unable to remain on his feet. His knees gave out and he collapsed against his chair, and Bruce miraculously managed to hold Tony and place him into a sitting position on the chair before the man slid to the floor. Only then, as he first touched Tony, did Bruce realize how unnaturally hot the man’s skin was. He was burning up with fever. Calling Pepper and walking out on him seemed like a ludicrous option now, and Bruce felt guilty for ever considering it.

“For such a genius, you’re possibly the dumbest person I’ve ever met”, Bruce commented absentmindedly as he checked Tony’s pupils and reflexes.

“I don’t have anything special, just my brain”, Tony continued, and Bruce felt bad for listening to him. Tony was never this honest or emotional, not even with Pepper, and this was a clear sign of how bad his fever was. His filter had probably been thrown out of the window by his high temperature. “All I’m good for is fixing things. I’m good at fixing. So I fix. I’d rather fix things than sleep. That’s what I’ve been doing since Afghanistan”.

“You need to stop talking now”, Bruce said, because the last thing he needed was for Tony to remember this conversation later and get all embarrassed on him. If dealing with a sick Tony was already exhausting, Bruce couldn’t imagine what it would be like to deal with a self-isolating Tony.

“You’re such a mother hen”, Tony muttered, rolling his eyes and then actually closing them. His body went limp and his shoulders lost their previous tension as he relaxed against the chair, arms and legs askew.

“No, you’re not passing out on me”, Bruce warned, slapping a hand against Tony’s face. “We need to lower your body temp and get some fluids into you. You’re dehydrated”.

“I’m not _passing out_ , I’m taking a nap”, Tony mumbled, clearly annoyed, and he would have rolled his eyes again had they not been closed already. “It’s worrying that you don’t know the difference”.

“Stop being clever. If you want to nap, then do it in your bed”, Bruce said, pulling one of Tony’s arms and passing it around his shoulder in order to support his weight. Tony managed to support some of his own weight on his own, but leaned heavily against Bruce all the same as they walked towards the door of the workshop. “Is the new reactor functioning well? Any complications?”, Bruce asked, because he was better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed on the top of everything was having to fix the reactor again because Tony had done a lazy job due to his sickness.

“What do you take me for?”, Tony replied, managing to sound tiredly offended.

“Given this stunt you’re pulling right now, I’d rather be on the safe side”, Bruce panted from the effort of carrying most of Tony’s weight. The Hulk might be strong, but Bruce’s deal was books, not muscles.

“It’s fully operational”, Tony replied, though the sentence came out slightly slurred. “Possibly even better than the last one”.

“You’re ridiculous, Tony”, Bruce shook his head. “You managed to build a better version of the arc reactor while your brains boiled from fever”.

“That’s nothing”, Tony scoffed, only half-conscious at this point. “Done it before inside a cave with a car battery for a heart”.

They walked out of the workshop, Bruce basically dragging Tony out, given that the billionaire’s strength drained from his body with each step he took. Steve immediately jumped to his feet, standing up straight and eyeing Tony’s flushing, sweating form in something that could only be described as horror. Tony was so out of it that he didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

“Don’t let the kid die, ok?”, Tony mumbled, only half-aware of what he was saying. “Just… don’t let him”.

“Steve, a little hand?”, Bruce asked, because Tony was almost slipping from his grasp. Steve immediately surged forward to help, efficient as always, but stopped himself before he could touch Tony, as if remembering the remaining breach between them and their friendship. Bruce sighed, barely able to sustain Tony’s deadweight anymore. “Tony, is it ok if Steve helps you to your room?”, he asked, voice constrained from the effort he was making.

“Mmm Capsicle”, Tony slurred simply, head dropping from Bruce’s shoulder to his chest. “I just got really tired all of a sudden. Did you drug me?”

“No one drugged you, you have a fever”, Bruce groaned. “Steve’s going to help you up now, ok?”

“Okay”, Tony sighed, sounding like he wanted to discuss the matter further but was too tired to. Steve awkwardly stepped in and took Tony’s weight from Bruce, holding a hand against the billionaire’s waist to keep him upright.

“I could carry you there”, Steve suggested, frowning in worry upon noticing how hot Tony’s skin was. Was he also responsible for Tony’s fever and delusional state?

“No carrying. I’m not your bride”, Tony muttered, blinking his unfocused eyes open for a few moments. They stepped inside the elevator, and Steve continued to support Tony into an upright position as it went back up towards Tony’s floor. The elevator pinged open, but before they could step out, they were met by Natasha’s form blocking the way, and realized that they had stopped on the wrong floor. This floor was the common area, and not Tony’s personal access.

“What’s going on?”, Natasha frowned upon seeing Steve supporting Tony’s half-conscious form. She wasted no time and stepped inside the elevator, the doors closing noisily behind her. “Don’t tell me Stark found a way into his lab and overworked himself to oblivion”.

“That’s one way to put it”, Bruce admitted, hands fidgeting. “Plus his infection didn’t heal completely and he’s got a fever now. We need to lower his temp”.

“Don’t put me on ice or I might end up like Cap”, Tony responded, a smirk appearing on his lips. Steve rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem upset by the comment.

“Take him to the bathroom”, Bruce instructed once the elevator opened at the right floor. “Put him in the tub. I’ll grab him a towel and some clean clothes”. With that, he disappeared into Tony’s room, whereas Steve aided the sick billionaire into his bathroom, Natasha awkwardly following him close.

“Should I take his clothes off?”, Steve asked, hating how awkward he sounded. This was his friend, his sick friend, his _sick friend_ who was only sick because of him. He shouldn’t be embarrassed by this situation; in fact, aiding Tony back to health was the least he could do.

“Yes, I’ll get the water running. He doesn’t have a tub here, so I’ll just shut the drain and let it fill with water”, Natasha replied. Steve promptly settled Tony down on the close-lidded toilet and the man blinked his eyes open sluggishly, staring up at Steve.

“What’re you doing in my bathroom?”, Tony asked, frowning in confusion as if he didn’t remember just getting there.

“Helping you”, Steve explained patiently. “You have a fever; you need to lower your temperature”.

“Don’t need your help”, Tony groaned, standing up by himself and actually looking better for a moment. He leaned briefly on the wall before regaining his balance. “Don’t need you to watch me showering either. Voyeurism isn’t really my thing”.

“Of course you need help, you can barely stand up on your own”, Natasha said coldly, standing up from where she had been crouching down beside the bathtub in order to get the water running. She had a stern look on her face, and a tone that didn’t leave room for a discussion.

“I can do it”, Tony said stubbornly, reaching to remove his shirt and stopping himself halfway. He gazed at Steve and then at Natasha, clearly uncomfortable, and decided to sit back at the toilet. “You know what, I think I’ll just wait for Bruce to come back”, Tony half-said, half-slurred, and as if on cue, Bruce entered the bathroom unceremoniously, carrying a towel and some folded clothes for Tony.

“Why isn’t he in the water yet?”, Bruce asked, placing the clothes and the towel on the sink.

“He doesn’t want to let us help”, Steve explained, ending up sounding accusing even though it wasn’t his intention. Tony closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool bathroom tiles, which were harsh and yet soothing at the same time.

“I think we should step outside for a moment, Steve”, Natasha suggested incisively, giving Steve a serious look. She pointed a glance at Tony’s chest, raising an eyebrow. It finally dawned on Steve that Tony probably didn’t feel too comfortable exposing his arc reactor to the man who had forcibly removed it from his chest barely a week before. Lowering his head and drowning in guilt once more, Steve nodded, allowing Natasha to hold the door open for him. “Call us if you need anything, Doctor Banner”, Natasha nodded at the doctor politely.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff”, Bruce replied, and watched as she closed the door behind her. He turned around to face Tony, only to find the man already struggling his way out of his sweat-drenched shirt and disposing it into a pile on the floor. He seemed to be wobbly and still too lightheaded for Bruce’s liking, but he managed to kick off his pants clumsily until there was nothing left on but his boxer briefs.

“Stare all you want, you’re not getting in my pants”, Tony told him, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. He stood up again, and was ready to step into the shower box when he realized that it was filled with water as if to form a very small pool. Tony eyed it for a few seconds before turning back to Bruce. “Clear the drain, I can take a shower like a big boy”, he said.

“We’ll lower your temp faster if you are immersed in the water”, Bruce protested.

“No”, Tony merely said, shaking his head and stepping back from the flooded shower, trembling on his feet.

“Don’t be childish”, Bruce reprimanded, getting a hold of Tony’s forearm. Even though he had a high fever, Tony managed to yank his arm away from Bruce’s grasp at full force. “Tony”, Bruce called in a warning tone.

“I’m not getting in and soaking myself on that. I’ll take a shower”, Tony repeated, not meeting Bruce’s eyes. He seemed to be sweating even more, and his breathing pattern was starting to speed up.

“Tony, what’s wrong?”, Bruce frowned, reaching an aiding hand towards the shaking man. Tony flinched away from his touch.

“Don’t”, he snapped, a warning in his voice. Bruce stepped back, confused, but not wanting to invade Tony’s personal space. However, he needed to lower his body temperature before it could do some actual damage to Tony’s health, and because of this he conceded and unplugged the drain, watching as the cool water whirled away.

“There. Can you step inside now?”, Bruce asked, as if addressing a child.

Tony watched as the water went down the drain as well and only when the shower was no longer flooded he stepped in, shivering. Before he could try to bail out, Bruce turned the tap on and Tony hissed as soon as the seemingly freezing liquid made contact with his skin.

“You’re going to need to stay there for a while”, Bruce told him almost apologetically. “At least until Friday says your temp is down”.

“Fine”, Tony muttered between gritted teeth, which were starting to rattle. His eyes were closed and he had his hands folded above his chest protectively. Bruce couldn’t tell if he was trying to preserve warmth or if he was still trying to hide the reactor away from view.

“Do you want me to step out and give you some privacy?”, Bruce asked politely. Tony threw his head back and sighed, water running down his face and smoothing down his hair.

“Do I really have the right of privacy anymore in a house in which my own A.I. locks me down from my workshop?”, Tony asked sarcastically.

“Fine. I’ll be right outside. Shout if you need anything, and _stay there_ until I say otherwise”, Bruce added the warning sternly.

“Thank you for proving my point”, Tony said as Bruce closed the door behind himself.

“How is he?”, Steve immediately asked as soon as Bruce stepped out from the bathroom, Natasha right behind him. They looked like they had been having a conversation in a hushed tone.

“He’s in the shower. I’ll be back in there in a moment, I want to keep a close eye on him”, Bruce explained. “I just wanted him to have what was left of his privacy”.

Natasha nodded briefly in understanding, but Steve merely stared at Bruce with a worried gaze.

“He seemed to be too out of it back at the elevator, Bruce”, Steve commented. “Was that… normal?”

Bruce sighed, removing his glasses, which had tiny droplets of water from the shower all over the lenses. He wiped them on his shirt as he responded.

“He has a pretty high fever. He should be fine once it breaks, but he’ll have to keep taking antibiotics”, he said. Steve nodded briefly, and looked like he wanted to ask something else, but didn’t know how to. “Go ahead, Steve”, Bruce encouraged tiredly.

“Was… is the… infection… Is it because of what I…?”, he trailed off miserably.

“It wasn’t your fault”, Bruce repeated for what felt like the millionth time. That seemed to be confirmation enough to Steve, since he lowered his head and stepped back into the dimly lit room.

“We shouldn’t be here”, Natasha said quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to talk about that subject altogether.

“You two are exactly where you should be”, Bruce sighed, because he was tired and stressed and all he wanted was for Tony to get better so that he could stop worrying about the man for at least one day. “You’ve postponed this talk for long enough. As soon as Tony is out of that bathroom, you’re going to talk about what happened, and you’re going to get yourselves together. I can’t stand all this tension anymore”, he admitted with a frustrated huff.

“Is now really the best time to talk to Tony about this?”, Natasha raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“If you go out that door you know you won’t come back any time soon”, Bruce sighed. “That man just produced a brand-new, improved arc reactor while delirious with fever; he can handle a talk with you two. He’ll feel better once his temperature lowers”.

Natasha frowned at this, blinking in surprise, and Bruce realized she hadn’t been there in the workshop when they found Tony. Before she could ask any questions, Steve stepped in.

“He modified the casing of the reactor so that he’ll be the only one able to remove it”, he explained, face grim. Natasha stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to read him. Then she turned back to face Bruce, wearing a stern expression.

“Shouldn’t you go in and make sure he doesn’t drown in the shower?”, she suggested.

“He emptied the drain”, Bruce sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Wouldn’t get inside otherwise”.

Natasha’s usually stoic and controlled face fell to give place to an expression of realization that developed into guilt. The sight was so uncommon that Bruce found himself gaping at the woman, completely taken aback by the sudden – and honest – display of emotion. She muttered something in Russian under her breath, biting at her lower lip.

“What is it?”, Steve asked, frowning.

“Afghanistan”, Natasha responded simply, crossing her arms above her chest. “They used to drown him in whatever could contain water enough as a torture technique. I shouldn’t have forgotten about this”, she muttered, shaking her head in anger and self-reproach. Suddenly, Tony’s reluctance about being immersed in water made a lot more sense.

“Nat”, Steve called, reaching for Natasha’s arm as she turned abruptly on her heels as if to leave the room.

“Let me go, Rogers”, Natasha said coldly, trying to yank her arm away from Steve’s grasp without turning back to look at him.

“Whatever you said to him about Afghanistan, it wasn’t you”, Steve said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just as much as it wasn’t me who pulled the reactor out”.

“I remember it all the same”, Natasha said coldly, gazing deep into Steve’s eyes and finally managing to release herself from his firm grip. “I know you do, too”.

Before either of them could do anything to stop her, Natasha left, marching her way out of the room and disappearing into the elevator without sparing them another glance. Bruce huffed out a breath, whereas Steve lowered his head and stepped to the side uncomfortably.

“She’ll come around”, he said finally after a few moments of silence. “She may not have actually injured him, but she did another sort of damage”.

“Did you two talk about it yet?”, Bruce asked carefully. Steve hesitated for a few seconds.

“We talked”, he responded simply. “You know how Nat is. I don’t know exactly what happened, only what she felt comfortable with sharing. Something… it was something about his torture back in Afghanistan”, Steve trailed off. Bruce averted his eyes, trying to think and make sense of everything Tony had gone through and dealt with on his own. His very Iron Man suit was a cocoon of some sorts, the way he had found to deal with his trauma and that developed into something greater than he could have ever imagined. Bruce was once again convinced of his opinion that Tony was in need of professional help to deal with his problems and traumas, which had begun way before the dreadful day when he was captured by the Ten Rings.

“Friday, what’s Tony’s current body temperature?”, Bruce asked.

“99,5 ºF, doctor”, Friday provided.

“That’s good enough”, Bruce nodded to himself. “I’m going to get him out. He can take his antibiotics and we can wait for the fever to break when he’s back in his bed”. With that, Bruce reentered the bathroom, clicking the door closed behind him and finding himself facing a heart-wrenching sight.

Tony was sitting on the shower floor, soaking wet and still shivering, knees pulled to his chest and head lolled limply to the side. He seemed to be half-asleep, brow furrowed in discomfort as the water still ran freely down his face and chest. He looked vulnerable like that, sick and shivering and pale; vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be seen. This was a side of Tony that Bruce had never had access before, and now, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to have access to it. Tony would probably shut himself from the team even further, should he know that the word “vulnerable” went across any of their minds.

Bruce turned the tap off and crouched beside Tony, placing a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. The man stirred, startled at first, but relaxing as soon as he acknowledged it was Bruce beside him, and not one of his captors. Bruce forced a comforting smile into his lips and offered Tony a towel, helping the man to his feet and out of the shower.

“Do you want help to change?”, Bruce asked cautiously, to which Tony immediately shook his head.

“No need to mother me”, he said, but the usually teasing remark sounded just as tired as Tony himself looked.

“Ok. I’ll be right outside”, Bruce reassured before stepping out once more. Steve eyed him in silence, almost warily. They could hear the sound of shuffling and a few muffled curses coming from inside the bathroom before the door finally opened, revealing a soaked-hair Tony wearing a baggy hoodie that Steve had never seen before, and some sweatpants. He was still shivering, but seemed to be more comfortable in his warm, clean clothes. He walked out rubbing the towel against his dripping hair, but stopped halfway as soon as he spotted Steve standing in the middle of his room.

Their eyes locked, and this interaction wasn’t like the one they had had merely half an hour before, with Tony out of his mind with fever and Steve worried sick about him. Now, Tony was sober, and extremely aware of his surroundings – whereas Steve seemed to be extremely aware of the way Tony had frozen to his feet as soon as he saw him standing in his room.

But Bruce was right, as usual. Steve couldn’t postpone this any longer. They needed to talk about what happened, and he needed to apologize to Tony. If he walked out of that room on that moment, any other interaction between them in the future would become awkward and forced. And, even though Tony was still shivering and was very, very pale (but not as pale as when he realized that Steve was about to tear the arc reactor out of his chest, no, not _that_ pale), his eyes were more focused and sharp. If Steve had apologized to Tony half an hour before, odds were he wouldn’t really remember afterwards, but he knew that if he talked to Tony now, everything they said would be committed to memory. This was his only chance at reconciliation.

“Tony”, was all Steve managed to say, because he wanted to talk to him, he _needed_ to talk to him, but he didn’t want to push himself into Tony’s privacy, either. Tony’s eyes had darted away from Steve’s face, but as soon as the man called his name, his head shot up and his expressive eyes fixed themselves on Steve’s face, staring deeply as if trying to study him. As if trying to figure out whether Steve was himself or somebody else.

“Hey, Cap”, Tony said after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, walking over to his unmade bed and dropping the towel on the chair of his working desk. His voice was forcedly nonchalant, and the interaction between them sounded wrong and unnatural, as if they were attempting to replicate their previous friendship-not-friendship, but poorly. Everything had always been complicated with them, with discussions and disagreements and jesting, but there had always been some sort of unshakable comradery between them that not even their initial hostility was able to spoil. Steve thought Tony was reckless and selfish and, honestly, just a rich man who thought the world was his to do with as he pleased. But that had been before he got to know him better, before Tony sacrificed himself to save a city that only ever criticized him, before Tony took a whole day to introduce him to new technology (even if he rolled his eyes and sighed non-stop all the way), before Tony invited him to live on his Tower, because he knew Steve didn’t really have anywhere to go. And Tony? Tony had a long and complicated history with the mere existence of Captain America, because he used to idolize that guy when he was a stupid, naïve kid whose only goal was to make his father proud. He used to think the world of Captain America, but that was until it became clear that, no matter what he did, no matter how many things he invented, he would never live up to the star-spangled man. Howard made sure that he knew that whenever Tony tried to prove himself.

But then Tony had gotten to know Steve, and the view they had on each other changed. Tony was no longer the selfish asshole who only thought about himself. Steve was no longer the righteous grandpa that couldn’t shake off his past-century attitude. They were different. They still disagreed on many fronts, but they were _different_.

Steve didn’t want to go back to being strangers who couldn’t stand each other. But most of all, he didn’t want to lose the hard-earned trust that Tony seemed to have finally worked his way into building. He didn’t want Tony to think that he would ever, ever be able to hurt him or kill him, for god’s sake.

His face must have shown at least to some degree the path of his train of thoughts, because Tony suddenly rolled his eyes and sat unceremoniously at the edge of his bed.

“Ok, enough with the kicked-puppy look”, he said. “What’s up?”

There was no animosity in Tony’s tone, just a sincere interest on what Steve wanted to tell him. Tony still had a fever and had just worked for twenty hours non-stop while still recovering. Even though he would never admit it to anyone, all he wanted was to take a nap. He felt tired to the bone, and his body was still shivering and shaking. The look in Steve’s guilty face told Tony everything that he already knew – that Steve hadn’t meant to tear his reactor out, that Steve was sorry, that it wasn’t his fault, etc., etc., etc. Was he supposed to stop having nightmares because of that?

Maybe now that he had fixed the reactor, the nightmares would finally stop. The only person capable of fixing himself was _himself._ He couldn’t expect an apology from Steve to suddenly make everything better, or to erase what had happened from his memory. He would probably never _forget_ that, but it didn’t mean that he blamed Steve or Natasha. They had their personal problems with each other, but he didn’t really think that Steve would go on a murderous rampage against him out of his own free will. Still, he had to think about something to contain him should that happen ever again. They were all too powerful and too dangerous to be free of a contingency plan. Maybe he would have to build Steve’s version of a Hulkbuster in the future. How ridiculous would that be? Tony almost chuckled to himself at the thought.

Shit, maybe he still had a fever.

“I’m going to get your antibiotics, be back in a moment”, Bruce said, clearly the odd-one-out in the conversation. Steve nodded at him in silent gratitude before the doctor left the room, and then he turned back to Tony, the abandoned-puppy look still lingering in his features.

“Tony, I’m sorry”, was all Steve managed to say after what felt like long, awkward moments of silence.

“I know”, Tony replied without missing a beat.

“I need you to know that it wasn’t me who did that to you –“

“I know”.

“And that I would never hurt you like that willingly”.

“I know”, he sighed, feigning annoyance.

“I wanted to ask your forgiveness”, Steve added, not quite meeting Tony’s eyes.

“You have it. There”, he gestured vaguely with his hand, acting dismissing. “If that’s all, tell Bruce I’m ready to be hooked up on some really good antibiotics on your way out, because this fever is wrecking me”, he added, before he could think better of it. Steve frowned.

“How are you feeling?”, Steve asked with concern, taking a hesitant step closer to the bed. Tony rolled his eyes, more at himself than at Steve. He would have kept his mouth shut, if his body hadn’t been actively trying to murder him and burn him alive.

“I’m fine, Cap. Better than yesterday”, Tony said, standing up and crossing his arms above his chest defensively. He didn’t think anything of the gesture, but Steve interpreted that as Tony attempting to hide the reactor from his view again. Steve lowered his head grievously. Tony clearly wasn’t ready to speak with him yet, or so he thought.

“You really shouldn’t have overworked yourself like this”, Steve said, because he didn’t know what else to tell Tony. “For such a genius, you can be really stupid, sometimes”.

“Well, get on the line to tell me that; it seems to be everyone’s favorite phrase on the moment”, Tony scoffed. “I did what I had to do. It will help me sleep better”.

Steve’s face dropped, and he lowered his head once again. Tony sighed.

“Listen, Steve”, he said, and Steve’s head immediately shot up because this was the first time Tony ever referred to him by his first name. This meant he was being serious for once, right?

Except that wasn’t the first time. The first time had been when Steve had his hands around Tony’s throat, squeezing the life right out of him while Tony fought desperately for breath. The way his voice had sounded breathless and croaked as he whispered “Steve” would never leave the super-soldier’s mind.

“I know you feel like this is on you, but it really isn’t. I’ve been through worse”, Tony continued, sounding casual. Steve frowned once again.

“You’ve been through worse than having one of your friends pulling your arc reactor out and almost getting you killed?”, he asked, disbelieving. He didn’t need Tony to sugarcoat him.

“ _Yes_ , because on the other time, there was no mind-control involved and he did it out of his own free will”, Tony explained seriously, taking a step towards Steve. The super-soldier’s face fell in shock, and he stupidly realized that Tony _wasn’t_ sugarcoating him, Tony didn’t _do_ sugarcoat. They were finally having an honest conversation for once, and Tony was willing to share what seemed to be very intimate, sensitive details about his personal life to Steve. He felt both honored and angry with whoever “friend” it was that betrayed Tony like that in the past. He would have to talk to Rhodes to find out if the person that did that to Tony was still around to get his ass kicked. “Point is:”, Tony continued, “I don’t blame you for what happened. I know it was out of your control. I will probably need some time until I can forget about it, but I will get there, eventually. Right now, I’m dealing with it how I can”.

Something hot blossomed at the bottom of Steve’s stomach, and he recognized it as a mixture of anger and frustration. Tony’s solution for getting over what had happened was _overworking himself into a fever_?

“You nearly got yourself killed down there, Tony”, Steve reprimanded seriously, as much as he hated to spoil the heart-to-heart they were having. Tony needed to understand that his coping mechanism was unhealthy.

“Don’t exaggerate”, Tony rolled his eyes.

“I’m not. If Bruce and I hadn’t found you when we did, you would have boiled in your own juices”, Steve argued, concerned and angry at Tony’s lack of regard for himself.

“If things had gotten too bad, I would have told Friday to ask for help”, Tony sighed, annoyed. “Stop ruining the moment, Captain Righteous”.

“I’m not ruining it, Tony, I’m serious. What you did was reckless and stupid; you could have very well gotten hurt or killed, and you would have been too out of it to realize it or ask Friday for help”, Steve said, ending up sounding like a parent. Tony shrunk into himself, almost unnoticeably.

“I needed to do it”, Tony refuted, not meeting Steve’s eyes and actually looking very uncomfortable. “Now, if you’re done throwing a tantrum in my room, I’d like to take my antibiotics and not talk about it anymore”, he added dismissingly. Steve huffed out a breath, shaking his head and noticing Tony’s clear discomfort with his outburst.

“I’m sorry”, Steve settled for saying. “I shouldn’t have…”, he trailed off with a frustrated sigh. “I worry about you, Tony”, he admitted. “I already worried about you before what happened… happened. You work yourself too hard”.

Tony remained in silence at this, face still turned so that he wouldn’t look at Steve.

“I used to think that you were just a reckless billionaire who didn’t care about anything in the world; I used to think that you had every bit of Howard’s talent but none of his morals –“

“Don’t bring Howard into this”, Tony snapped, looking angry for the first time ever since he saw Steve standing in his room. He immediately assumed a defensive manner, even if he didn’t realize it himself.

“But now I see I was wrong”, Steve continued, earning no reaction from Tony. “I see I was wrong to say that he didn’t deserve the son he had. I never got to have a long, lasting relationship with him; I got in the ice before I could. But I know _you_ better than I knew _him_ , and I think it’s safe to say that you lived up to your father’s memory”.

Tony’s lips formed a thin line and he turned his head to the side, not daring to face Steve as they spoke of his father. This was a subject that Tony didn’t discuss with anyone, not even with Pepper, and he most certainly wouldn’t discuss it with _Steve Rogers_ in his own bedroom in the middle of the night.

“Fury didn’t tell me everything”, Steve continued after a few silent seconds. “But he gave me a hint of how Howard raised you. And… and no parent should raise a son like that. I said that he didn’t deserve you, but it was the other way around. _You_ didn’t deserve him. And I’m sorry for ever saying that, Tony. I didn’t know”, he added with honesty.

“Fury should have kept his mouth shut”, Tony added simply after a few moments of ponderation. “For a one-eyed man, he’s really good at keeping an eye on other people’s business”.

“He means well”, Steve replied.

“No, he doesn’t”, Tony sighed.

“Either way, I’m sorry”, Steve continued. “For everything. Well, except for saying that you were reckless and stupid, because you really were”, he chuckled. Tony gave him a reluctant grin, finally looking at Steve.

“Always trying to order people around, hm?”, Tony said, leaning his back against the wall beside his bedroom window.

“I’m a captain, after all”, Steve shrugged.

“No, you’re not. It’s an honorary title”, Tony teased. Steve sighed, admitting his defeat.

“Still, it’s my job to make sure everyone in my team is ok, especially after something like… _that_ happened”, he argued. “It’s also my duty as a friend to make sure you’re ok. And _not_ overworking yourself into a hospital”, he added. Tony’s face looked too serious all of a sudden.

“Another exaggeration”, Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Tony”, Steve said, a warning in his voice that wasn’t too unfriendly.

“What? It’s the truth”, Tony shrugged.

“I want you to promise me that you won’t do that again”, Steve asked, seriously.

“What, _work_?”, Tony raised another eyebrow. “Because I’m afraid that if I stop working, we’ll all run out of a house, financial support for our little toys, your Frisbee included, and I’m already used to a –“

“No”, Steve interrupted him, rolling his eyes in a mixture of affection and annoyance. If Tony was managing to make him _annoyed_ (as usual), that meant that things weren’t so bad between them anymore, right? “ _Overwork_. Especially when you’re still recovering from everything that happened”.

“No promises”, Tony said, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“At least while you’re recovering”, Steve bargained.

“I’ll think about it”, he shrugged.

“I mean it, Tony”, Steve insisted.

“You sound like a parent”, Tony accused, more mocking than judging.

“Well, since you seem to have a tendency to behave like a stubborn child, that’s not really too bad”, Steve argued, crossing his arms in a way that mimicked Tony.

“Did you…”, Tony said, pointing a finger at Steve without uncrossing his arms. “Did you… just use sarcasm?”

“You’re not the only one allowed to do it”, Steve shrugged.

“You can’t be my parent _and_ sarcastic, Steve, that’s not how parenting works”, Tony chuckled. “You’re supposed to be boring and square, but hey, that doesn’t sound like it’s too much of an effort to you”, he teased.

“Now who’s being sarcastic?”, Steve raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Tony simply chuckled soundlessly.

“I’m allowed to be, that’s my charm”, Tony raised the palms of his hands in an expository gesture.

“You’re diverging”, Steve accused, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Tony.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do”, Tony gave in.

“I’m going to need more than that”, Steve insisted.

“Just take what you can get, Steve”, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Tony, I’m serious”, Steve sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You need to take better care of yourself. The world isn’t going to end because you took a break to recover. That’s why the Avengers are here”.

An indescribable emotion appeared in Tony’s face, only to be suppressed again in a couple of seconds. Steve watched him intently, trying to figure out what he could have possibly said to upset the billionaire.

“Sure”, he said simply, sighing, before he grabbed his tablet and sat back down at his bed, completely ignoring Steve.

“Did I say something wrong?”, Steve asked, frowning.

“Nope”, Tony merely responded, not bothering to look up from the tablet.

“You look upset”, Steve commented.

“I’m not”, Tony responded nonchalantly. “You can leave, now”.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me”, Steve took a tentative step closer to the bed, concerned. He was here to make things right with Tony, not to upset him even more, for god’s sake.

But Tony didn’t want to tell Steve about it. He already hated feeling so sick that he needed help from others, and yes, Bruce was his friend, but that didn’t mean that he felt less humiliated because of that. If he even allowed Steve to know that he didn’t feel like he was part of the Avengers, that he felt disposable and replaceable and that he feared that the rest of the group would finally realize it, he would never hear the end of it. Because telling Steve about how he felt would bring his attention to the fact that Tony _was_ , indeed, replaceable; that all that the team needed was Iron Man, and not him. And honesty? As much as he hated the bureaucracy, the obligatory team work, the whole having-to-interact-and-trust-other people stuff, Tony _needed_ it. As much as he wished that was true, he couldn’t save the world alone and he knew it. The world needed the Avengers. Tony needed the Avengers. But did the Avengers really need a man with a heart-condition, trust issues and an anxiety disorder?

“Tony, how can you even think that?”, Steve asked, looking horrified and concerned, and Tony’s first thought was “oh no, he somehow absorbed the telepath’s mind-powers and read straight into my mind”, before he realized that he had just said everything he thought out loud. The way his vision seemed to be blurry and unfocused, incapable of reading whatever it was on the screen of his tablet, was an indicator that his fever not only was still there, but it was probably getting worse. Shit. Fine, maybe Steve and Bruce were right, maybe he shouldn’t have spent too long in his workshop while he was still recovering from the infection. But he had needed to make sure that he wouldn’t have the reactor torn out from his chest by anyone _ever again_ , because Obadiah had been enough while Steve had been downright traumatizing, and he had needed to make sure that Peter would be safe. He didn’t want the kid to end up like him, and if Tony had dragged him into this whole mess, the least he could do was protect him. He saw too much of himself in Peter to _not_ like the kid, and he saw just enough of himself in Peter to be afraid for his future.

From the way Steve’s face seemed to grow more worried and guilty, Tony assumed that some of that must have slipped off his mouth again. How _great_. He bit down at one of his inner cheeks as if to keep his mouth shut, at the same time Steve pushed him down on the bed gently and said:

“Don’t move; I’m going to get Bruce”.

“No need; I’m fine”, Tony complained, not willing to admit that lying down on his bed felt infinitely better than sitting.

“The hell you are, Tony”, Steve scolded, sounding angrily serious.

“Language”, Tony said, teasing.

“I need you to know that none of that is true”, Steve said, gazing deep into Tony’s eyes and going on his full-Captain mode, using that tone that left no room for discussion and that told Tony it was no time for jokes. “You’re not replaceable, no one thinks you are. I’m sorry if I, or any other Avenger, made you feel that way. You’re not getting rid of us any time so soon”, he reassured, squeezing Tony’s shoulder gently as if to emphasize his words.

“I can tell you the same”, Tony sighed. “No need to go all mother-hen on me, that’s already Bruce’s job”.

“You’re burning up again”, Steve commented with a frown. “Stay in bed and don’t get up. I’m going to get Bruce”, he instructed, and before Tony could protest, he disappeared. He considered sitting back up on the bed just to spite Steve when he returned, but decided against it. His pillows and bedsheets were comfortable, if only a little bit too cold, but they were cozy and inviting and he was so tired that maybe he could just doze off for a few moments and then he could return to work, a nap wouldn’t do any harm…

“Are you with me?”, a familiar voice asked above him, prodding and poking at him in a way that made him want to blast the person away from him. He opened his eyes to find a blurry Bruce standing beside him, Steve lurking behind him with his arms crossed and a worried look on his face.

“Always, doc”, Tony muttered, shifting on the bed. He hated how weak he must have looked, lying in his bed, pouring his heart and his fears to _Steve Rogers_ while burning up with fever. He felt humiliated and helpless, and because of that, refused Bruce’s help to sit back up, leaning on his shaking elbows by himself and pulling his body into a sitting position.

“Drink this”, Bruce instructed him, shoving a couple of pills into one of Tony’s hands and a glass of cool water on the other. Tony drank up without putting a complaint, because if there was anything he wanted on that moment was to actually get better and not go around being embarrassingly honest with anyone around him. He didn’t even protest when Bruce placed a damp cloth on his forehead and beneath his armpits, actually enjoying the cool sensation against his hot skin. “Listen to me, Tony, because I swear I’m not going to say it again”, Bruce said seriously as he placed the cloths across Tony’s fevered body. “You’re going to stay in bed, you’re going to do as I tell you, and you’re going to rest and allow yourself to be healed. That’s not up to discussion”.

“Bossy”, Tony commented, just because he could.

“It’s either that or I’ll have S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical team take over your case”, Bruce threatened. “And they’re nowhere near as nice or as patient as I am to you. How would you like completely unknown people walking in and out of your room and seeing you like this, huh?”, he raised an eyebrow at Tony, who huffed out an indignant breath.

“Cheater”, he gave in, lying still on the bed and allowing Bruce to resume positioning the damp cloths.

“We’re your friends, Tony”, Steve finally spoke up after a few moments of silence. “We would never hold this against you. You don’t have to worry about this”.

“Whatever you say, Capsicle”, Tony sighed, even though the man’s words offered him some level of comfort.

“He’s right, Tony”, Bruce commented. “Just let go of your pride for a moment and let us help you, for once”.

“’Stop working’ and ‘let go of my pride’”, Tony scoffed humorously. “You two took the day to ask me to do impossible things”.

“It’s either that or the hospital”, Bruce said, vaguely menacing.

“You’re terrible at threats, Brucey-bear”, Tony teased. “I already took my pills and you already cooled me down. There’s not much else you can do, so I’ll just sleep it off. I’ll probably be back at a 100% in the morning”.

“I’ll be the judge of that”, Bruce scoffed, shaking his head affectionately. “I’m serious, Tony, if you get out of this bed before I get back here, I’ll be giving you off to those fanboys in Fury’s medical team without batting an eye”.

“I take it back, I’m feeling threatened now”, Tony said. “I have an eyewitness”.

“Go to sleep”, Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check your temperature. And give me this”, he yanked the tablet away from Tony’s slack hands, placing it beneath his armpit. “You don’t get to work from bed anymore, after the stunt you pulled today”.

“Are you _grounding_ me?”, Tony raised an incredulous, mocking eyebrow. “Rogers, you’re going to have to ask for my shared custody, Bruce wants to be my daddy too”.

“My _god_ ”, Bruce slapped his palm against his own face, rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Just… stay in bed. Steve, step outside with me for a second”, he instructed, gesturing at the flushing, confused-looking Steve at the corner of the room. He promptly followed Bruce out, ignoring Tony’s sing-sung ‘good night!’ that was yelled behind them.

The pair stepped out of Tony’s room, Bruce closing the door silently behind them. Steve waited until he heard the click of the door before immediately addressing Bruce.

“Did you know that was how he felt?”, he asked, assertive. Bruce’s eyes darted around, as if to check if they had company.

“Steve –“, he started, sounding like he was attempting to calm a wild animal. Steve shook his head abruptly.

“Did you know that he doesn’t feel like he’s a part of the Avengers?”, Steve continued, incredulous and angry at the same time. “That he feels like he’s disposable and replaceable? Like we’d just dump him out of our team because of his heart condition?”

“Calm down, Captain”, Bruce told him patiently. “I didn’t know any of that, do you think I wouldn’t have told him something if I did? This isn’t something you should hold against him, not when he told you this while he was sick and delirious”.

Steve blinked back at Bruce in shock, too taken aback to immediately respond.

“I was… I’m not going to hold this against him”, he protested, frowning.

“Well, you sure sound like you want to talk to him about this as soon as he recovers”, Bruce raised a judging eyebrow. “Or worse, like you want to talk to the _team_ about it”.

Steve blinked rapidly, lowering his head in deep thought and shame. If he was honest to himself, he _had_ thought about talking to the team about it, not to purposefully expose Tony, of course, but to call their attention to the toxic way Tony felt. Perhaps if the team knew that was how Tony thought, they could change their attitude towards him or do something to make him feel better.

But Bruce was right. Tony would probably think that Steve was purposefully holding what he had said against him, and get even more upset with all of them.

“I just… I don’t get it”, Steve frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. “He always so narcissistic and… self-absorbed. How can he think so highly of himself and then think we wouldn’t want him in the team?”

“Tony is complicated”, Bruce sighed, taking off his glasses. “He’s been through some stuff. He’s definitely not always easy to understand. I have no idea what is going through his mind 99% of the time, but… he does have trust issues. He only told you these things he did back there because he had no control over what he was saying. I think you should just let it drop”.

“I can’t forget about something like that”, Steve protested. “It’s not true. He shouldn’t think it is true”.

“The only thing I know is that if you confront Tony about it, he’ll only isolate himself more”, Bruce shrugged. “He hates feeling defenseless and exposed. And that’s probably how he will feel if you talk to him about this”.

“But what should I _do_?”, Steve asked, frustrated.

“This is Tony’s issue, not yours, Steve”, Bruce explained patiently. “You can’t fix it for him. There’s nothing _you_ can do about it. If we were talking about me, or Thor, or anyone else, I would tell you to show your support and reassure them that they’re important and all that. But this is _Tony_ we are talking about. And that’s not how Tony works”.

Steve bit at his lower lip pensively, acknowledging the truth behind Bruce’s words. Still, his inability to do something to make his friend feel better made him feel frustrated and as helpless as Tony probably felt.

“Look, I need to do some other stuff, but I’ll be back in a while to check his temperature”, Bruce said tiredly. “Do you think you could keep an eye on him in the meantime?”

“Of course”, Steve nodded solemnly, standing up straighter.

“Good. I won’t take long. Just make sure he doesn’t boil in his own juices or tries to get up”, Bruce instructed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I need to make a call”, he announced, and just like that, he was stepping away from Steve and into the elevator. Taking a few moments to brace himself, Steve reopened the door to Tony’s room and entered.

Tony was apparently asleep in the bed, in exactly the same position he was in when Bruce and Steve exited the room. His face was more relaxed than before, eyes shut and mouth slightly open as he breathed deeply in his sleep. Steve silently approached the bed, trying to see if all the damp cloths were in place, and once he found that they were, he carefully pulled up a chair and sat at Tony’s bedside. Tony didn’t stir.

Steve sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, watching as Tony’s chest rose and fell with each breath and how the dim light of the new reactor emitted a bluish hue that reflected on his face, even through the thick fabric of his hoodie. Tony looked exhausted and there was a thin layer of cold sweat covering his brow, but other than that, he looked better than he had a week before, when Steve was first allowed to see him after the incident. Tony never got to know that Steve had visited him in the medical area, and he, on his turn, never got too close to Tony anyway, afraid he would disrupt him. Tony had looked _awful_ back then. Steve would have sworn he was dead if it was not for the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor in the room and the faint, barely-perceptible rise and fall of his chest. He had been so terrifyingly pale, and so terrifyingly still that Steve could swear that the sight would never leave his mind, just as much as the memory of attacking Tony repeatedly would be embedded in his head forever. Tony might have forgiven Steve, but Steve still hadn’t forgiven himself for what had happened.

Tony twisted on the bed out of a sudden, eyes squeezing tightly and hands balling into fists. Steve immediately recognized it as a nightmare – he had his fare deal of those – and jumped to his feet. Holding Tony down would probably make things worse, and before he could do something to help, he came to the realization that the nightmare could very well be about him.

“It’s ok, Tony”, Steve said gently, as gently as he could. He never touched Tony, knowing that if he did, it was more probable that he would earn a negative reaction, rather than a positive one. “It’s not me. I would never hurt you; neither would Natasha. It’s not us. You’re safe. You’re back in the Tower, the reactor is fine, you’re safe”, he said soothingly. “Peter is safe”, he added after a few seconds, just because he knew how much the kid meant to Tony.

Tony slowly relaxed, his hands letting go of the sheets he had grasp in his nightmarish confusion and his shoulders untightening. His frowning brow smoothed down and his face slowly returned to its previous slack state, even though he looked a bit more serious than he had before. Steve carefully put the cloths that Tony had dislodged with his fidgeting back into place, taking care not to startle the man as he did so. Once he was settled, Steve sat back down, sighing.

Another silence fell upon them, but Steve didn’t feel like dozing off on the chair. If anything, he was more alert than ever. While Tony slept soundly beside him, Steve was hunched over his seat, head leaning on his hands as he stared blankly ahead, lost in deep thought.

“You know”, he eventually said, and he didn’t know how much time had passed ever since Tony relaxed from the nightmare. It could have been seconds or minutes, and Steve still wouldn’t be able to tell. He figured that if he could fix Tony’s issue for him, he could at least offer him some sort of comfort and let him know that he wasn’t alone. “You’re not the only one who’s dealt with heart problems. When I was this puny kid in Brooklyn, back in the 40’s…”

Steve continued to talk, for what felt like hours to no end, telling Tony tales of his childhood in Brooklyn, dealing with his many health issues and how after his mother died, Bucky was the only one who bothered to take care of him whenever he got so sick he couldn’t walk. He talked about the bullying, and how hard life was for him during the winter, and how helpless he felt for being held back by his own body. He talked about how sometimes he feared that Bucky would give up on him, finally tired of his many diseases, and how he had always trusted his friend better than abandoning him. He talked about how he would never give up on Tony, either.

Steve talked until his mouth ran dry and his shoulders grew achy due to the uncomfortable position he was sitting on. And then, he kept talking.

 

 

 

 

Tony woke up to a dry mouth and heavy eyelids, and his body felt so sticky and disgusting that he immediately wanted nothing more than to take a shower and get rid of that reek of illness and dry sweat. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times until his vision regained focus and he could make sense of his surroundings. He remembered the events of the previous night vaguely, but he couldn’t be really sure of what had been a dream and what hadn’t. Turning his head to the side, much to his surprise, Tony found a sleeping Peter Parker sitting by his bedside, knees pulled up to his chest and head resting against his knees, apparently asleep even in that hideous position.

“This is becoming ridiculous”, Tony mumbled to himself, voice hoarse and dry, pretending that he didn’t feel quite a lot of emotions upon seeing the boy there, waiting for him to wake up.

“What is?”, a familiar voice asked quietly behind him, and Tony turned his head to his opposite side to find Steve standing by the window, back resting against the wall and arms crossed above his chest. Tony couldn’t tell whether he had been up all night or not, since the tiredness on his face had become very constant over the course of the past week.

“Oh no”, Tony dramatically sighed. “You’re not here to tell me _another_ one of your childhood stories, are you? They’re endless”, he smirked. Steve’s expression, on the other hand, fell, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise, a barely noticeable blush rising to his face. He blinked rapidly for a few moments.

“You heard that?”, he asked, genuinely surprised that Tony had been awake to hear what he had been saying. The illusion that the man was asleep had been the motivator for Steve to talk about his intimate life; had he known that Tony had been awake, he would have probably kept his mouth shut.

“Just some bits here and there. Don’t worry, Cap”, Tony said reassuringly, though there was still a lopsided grin on his face. “Now we’re even, right? I told you something, you told me something. Actually, a _lot_ , but still”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Steve said, feigning obliviousness. Tony stared at him for a few moments, catching up on what Steve was doing. Was Steve really willing to let Tony’s embarrassing feverish confessions go unmocked, uncommented, unspoken of? Was he really willing to let that subject go, without trying to fix him, without trying to take control, as long as Tony did the same?

“Right”, Tony nodded compliantly after a few moments, still a bit suspicious of Steve’s intentions but trying his best to sound accepting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, either”.

With that silent agreement between them, Steve nodded, slowly approaching the bed.

“What’s the kid doing here?”, Tony asked, feigning annoyance.

“Bruce thought you’d feel better if he was around”, Steve explained. “Something about _not_ working on his new suit because you can see that he is safe, or something”.

Tony rolled his eyes as deeply as he could, huffing out a breath.

“That is not what this was about”, he protested. “It’s not like I overworked because of _him_ ”.

“Don’t be harsh on the kid, he was really worried about you”, Steve advised. “And he only came over because Bruce asked him to”.

“He has better things to do than to be at my bedside like a worrying maiden”, Tony complained, looking grumpy.

“More like a worrying son”, Steve commented, raising a teasing eyebrow at Tony.

“Ok, just to be clear, if you ever say anything of this kind to anyone ever again, I will personally make sure that the story of how Steve Rogers had 176 different diseases and never kissed anyone in his life is on first page tomorrow”, Tony threatened, pointing a finger at Steve.

“You’re sounding a little defensive there, shellhead”, Steve teased, grinning. Tony rolled his eyes again.

“He’s not my son, and the last thing I need is for him to think that he is”, Tony explained. “He’d think too much of himself”.

“No, he wouldn’t”, Steve said seriously. “He’d be proud”.

“Ugh”, Tony groaned, running two hands across his face. “You’re so cheesy”.

“Guess I’m an old-school sort of guy”, Steve shrugged. “But you don’t need to worry about him. Happy said he’s on a school break, anyway, and I don’t really think the kid would actually spend time here if he had something better to do”.

“You _think_?”, Tony raised an eyebrow at Steve. “This kid has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever”.

“Sounds like someone I know”, Steve commented, trying not to grin.

“You’re really funny, Rogers”, Tony said ironically, rolling his eyes. “I’m really having a blast right now”.

“Glad to know I’m aiding you back to health”, Steve commented, chuckling. “But really, Tony, how are you feeling?”

“Definitely better than yesterday”, Tony said. “Also, in urgent need of a shower”.

“I’ll call Bruce in to check on you, and if he says it’s ok, then you can take your shower”, Steve said, tapping Tony on the shoulder.

“I can’t believe I’m being monitored in my own house”, Tony sighed dramatically. “Do I need permission to take a piss as well?”, he asked ironically.

“Probably”, Steve shrugged, in the least apologetic way possible. “I’ll go find Bruce. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if you get out of bed before we get back”.

“I’ll be grounded?”, Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, wait, that already happened”.

“Stay in bed, Tony. I’ll be right back”, Steve said simply, making his way towards the door. Before he could leave, however, he stopped on his tracks, hand holding the doorknob but not twisting it. He stood like that for a few moments, as if trying to make a decision, before he finally turned on his heels, still standing by the door. “Hey”, he settled for saying.

“I’m afraid I can’t get up to hold the door for you”, Tony said bitterly, staring at Steve.

“I just… wanted to say I’m sorry”, Steve said, sounding serious.

“We’ve been over this, Capsicle”, Tony sighed. “Nothing to be sorry for, I forgive you, etc., etc., etc.”

Steve took a deep breath and nodded, looking somewhat frustrated. He lowered his head and twisted the doorknob, opening the door ready to go find Bruce.

“Steve”, Tony said before the super-soldier could close the door behind him. Steve stopped on his tracks, looking up at Tony. “I mean it. We’re ok”.

A hint of a smile appeared on Steve’s lips, and Tony hadn’t realized how grim and sad his face had looked until it brightened back up again.

“No getting out of bed”, Steve instructed, raising a warning finger at Tony.

“Aye, aye, Captain”, Tony ironized. Steve stepped outside the room and closed the door behind him with a click, enveloping Tony once more in the comforting darkness of his room. Maybe Steve didn’t get it before, but now things seemed to be different. Now, even if the man had beat him into a pulp and tore the arc reactor from his chest and given him a brand-new trauma to deal with, Tony felt like he could trust him. Because Steve wasn’t Obadiah, who had betrayed him and left him to die, and he wasn’t Howard, who was ready to dump him at the first opportunity. Steve was Steve. And even if they were possibly extreme opposites, Tony was glad that Steve cared about him, no matter how obnoxiously righteous he could get most of the time.

He still had a lot to deal with. He knew that the nightmares wouldn’t go away overnight. He knew that the fear and the helplessness wouldn’t simply disappear. But he was glad to know that at least he could count on Bruce and Steve to have his back.

And Peter. He could count on Peter too.

Maybe Stark men were made of Iron, but Tony’s family was made of humans. Super-powered, monster-turning, spider-like humans, but humans all the same. And this was more than he could have ever asked for.

“Mr. Stark?”, an astonished voice said beside him, sounding sleepy and surprised to see him awake. “How are you? Are you feeling ok? Do you need anything? Do you want me to get Doctor Banner for you?”

Tony allowed a reluctant smile to appear on his lips, rolling his eyes affectionately at Peter’s worry, his chest warming up with unadmitted gratefulness.

“Hey, kid”, he said with a sigh, for the first time not bothering to pretend that he wasn’t glad to see Peter there for him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second work for the MCU fandom, so I hope it turned out ok!  
> Kudos and comments make me happy, and so does constructive criticism.  
> You can find me on tumblr as edema--ruh and on twitter as @prouvvaire.


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